ana  3j.va 


ALTA  ISADORA  GOUIJX 


FIFTH  EDITION. 


THE 


AND  OTHER   POEHS. 


STORIES     OF     THE     LATE    WA.R. 


BY 

ALTA   ISADORE   GOULD. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


P.  D.  FARRELL  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

GRAND  RAPIDS,  MICH. 

1897. 


V 


\      j  a 
c 


^Y\ 


Copyright,  1893, 

BY 
ISADORA  GOULD. 

(All  rights  reserved.) 


CONTENTS. 


PAOB 

INTRODUCTION 7 

THE  VETERAN'S  BRIDE n 

INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  FIRST n 

PART  FIRST       13 

INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  SECOND 23 

PART  SECOND 24 

INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  THIRD     63 

PART  THIRD 64 

THE  VETERAN'S  STORY 93 

THE  FATE  OF  WAR 113 

MY  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  WAR 137 

AI^AN  WORTH  (a  story  in  two  parts) 143 

PART  SECOND 157 

THE  SOLDIER'S  LETTER 169 

THAT  BUCKET  OF  MARMALADE 175 

187 
3 


PAOB 

MICHIGAN  PINE 229 

WHITTIER 23r 

AN  AUTUMN  IDYL ...  233 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 237 

MOONLIGHT  MUSINGS 241 

MEMORIAL  DAY    .       245 

OUR  FLAG 247 

COLUMBIA 249 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Alta  Isadore  Gould Frontispiece 

Captain  Henry  leaving  for  the  battlefield    ....  Opposite  18 
Captain  Henry   falls  in  battle   while  leading  his 

company "  22 

Libby  Prison "  94 

Captain  Henry  rescued  by  loyal  friends "  98 

Captain  Henry  is  again  happily  united  in  marriage       "  710 

Abraham  Lincoln "  236 


INTRODUCTION. 


TVTO  doubt  but  this  little  book  will  find  a  welcome  in  many 
households.  The  brave  soldier's  bride  and  other  thrilling 
incidents  of  our  late  Civil  War  will  be  found  full  of  interest. 
I  had  two  years'  experience  in  the  war  and  can  truly  say  that  I 
have  known  and  have  seen  counterparts  of  ever}'  scene  repre 
sented  that  I  have  examined  within  these  pages.  I  recall  one 
instance  of  a  comrade's  marrying  the  self-sacrificing  widow 
whose  brave  soldier  husband  was  slain  by  his  mistaken  brothers. 
Another  incident  I  can  never  forget.  As  the  two  opposing 
forces  were  about  to  engage  in  battle,  a  young  Confederate 
soldier  saw  his  brother  within  the  Union  ranks  and  said  to  his 
comrade,  "  Oh,  don't  shoot  in  that  direction  !  brother  George 
stands  there!  and  then,  pointing  in  another  direction,  "don't 
shoot  that  way,  father  is  there  !  "  "  I'll  shoot  between  them," 
was  the  reply. 


I  cried  in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  "  How  long,  O  I,ord!  how 
long  before  we  can  cross  over  this  red  sea  of  blood  into  the 
promised  land  of  peace,  where  brother  shall  be  arrayed  against 
brother  no  more  forever  ?" 

As  our  rhymist  has  herself  married  a  brave  and  crippled 
soldier,  she  knows  whereof  she  speaks. 

I  thank  the  Lord  and  take  courage  as  I  see  the  Grand  Arbi 
tration  principle  prevailing  in  so  many  nations  and  may  it  soon 
triumph  !  May  the  God  of  peace  and  love  hasten  the  glad  day 
when  the  glorious  anthem  that  astonished  and  amazed  the 
shepherds  of  Judea's  hills  at  the  birth  of  the  world's  Redeemer, 
shall  reverberate  from  every  mountain  top,  and  every  valley 
re-echo  the  heavenly  refrain,  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on 
earth  peace,  good-will  to  men  !" 

I, AURA  S.  HAVILAND. 


TO  SOLDIERS, 

THE  BRAVE  DEFENDERS  OP  OUR  COUNTRY, 

THIS   LITTLE   VOLUME  IS 

RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED 

BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


Brave  Boys  in  Blue,  your  camp-fire  song 
Will  soon  be  hushed,  the  shadows  long 
Will  merge  into  the  shades  of  night. 
And  soon  you'll  join  the  Boys  in  White. 
For  cruel  time's  relentless  hand 
Is  thinning  fast  the  gallant  band, 
And  soon  will  sleep  beneath  the  yew 
The  remnant  of  our  Boys  In  Blue. 


THE  VETERAN'S  BRIDE. 

In  Three  Parts. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  FIRST. 


is  stranger  far  than  fiction, 
I  have  heard  this  from  my  youth  ; 
But  romance,  in  wildest  diction, 
Is  not  half  as  strange  as  truth. 

I'll  endeavor  to  convince  you 
That  this  thought  is  strictly  true, 

If  you  will  but  kindly  follow 
This  my  humble  story  through. 

There  are  certain  rights  I  crave  not, 

To  a  very  great  extent  ; 
Let  men  vote  and  do  the  fighting, 

I  am  perfectly  content. 
ii 


But  let  woman  think  profoundly, 
Let  her  battle  with  her  pen, 

And  assert  her  claim  to  genius, 
On  an  equal  plane  with  men. 

Woman,  too,  can  tell  a  story 
Just  as  well  as  any  man, 

Unless  we  except,  it  may  be, 
Now  and  then  a  veteran. 

And,  although  the  tale  I've  written 
May  seem  overdrawn  to  you, 

Stranger  things  befel,  remember, 
Many  a  gallant  boy  in  blue. 


PART  FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TN  a  pleasant  rural  district 

Of  our  own  dear  native  state, 
Lays  the  scene  of  this,  my  story, 
Which  I  carefully  relate. 

Where  the  wheatfields  stretched  in  greenness 

O'er  a  country  wondrous  fair, 
And  the  breath  of  sweet  old  orchards 

Filled  the  clear  and  ambient  air, 

Peopled  by  old-fashioned  farmers, 
Men  who  made  no  great  pretense, 

Patriotic,  loyal,  honest, 

Blest  with  good  sound  common  sense, 
13 


Dwelt  our  hero  and  heroine, 

Who  were  neither  great  nor  grand, 

But  just  quiet,  honest  people, 
Happy  tillers  of  the  land. 

True,  a  modest  pride  they  cherished, 
That  they  sprung  from  worthy  stock, 

For  they  traced  direct  their  lineage 
Back  to  grand  old  Plymouth  rock. 

Matthew  Henry  and  his  consort 

Were  a  happy  loving  pair ; 
Matthew,  tall,  of  noble  bearing, 

Jennie,  gentle,  sweet  and  fair. 

Margaret,  their  little  daughter, 
Was  the  sunshine  of  their  home, 

And  they  lived  in  sweet  contentment, 
Dreaming  not  that  harm  could  come. 

They  saw  not  the  cloud  of  discord 
Which  was  now  so  soon  to  break 

Over  our  devoted  country 
And  such  awful  havoc  make. 


But  when  boomed  the  guns  of  Sumter, 
Which  were  echoed  far  and  wide, 

Then  were  loyal  hearts  unnumbered, 
Fired  by  patriotic  pride, 

Ready  to  repel  the  treason 

Threat'ning  now  the  nation's  life, 

And*to  Lincoln's  call  responding, 
Volunteered  to  join  the  strife. 

And  the  Matthew  of  our  story 
Joined  at  once  the  gallant  band, 

Rushing  promptly  to  the  rescue 
Of  our  now  unhappy  land ; 

And,  he  sought  his  native  village, 
Where  in  boyhood  he  had  played, 

And,  in  ringing,  loyal  speeches, 
Now  his  country's  need  portrayed. 

Like  the  music  of  the  clarion, 
Or  the  thrilling  bugle  note, 

Were  the  burning  words  he  uttered; 
As  upon  the  air  they  float 
15 


They  arouse  his  honest  hearers, 
For  their  hearts  are  loyal  too, 

They  can  make  but  one  decision 
What  a  patriot  should  do. 

And,  at  once,  they  rally  round  him, 
Eager  to  commence  the  fray, 

Bound  to  lose,  in  hesitation,     - 
Not  another  precious  day. 

Soon  a  company  enlisted, 
Matthew  Henry  at  its  head ; 

Then,  returning  to  his  fireside, 
He  to  Jennie  softly  said — 

"  Darling  wife,  I  soon  must  leave  you, 

For  our  country  calls  for  men, 
And  no  one,  with  truth,  shall  ever 
Say  a  Henry  faltered  when 

"  She  was  calling  for  assistance 

In  a  great  and  righteous  cause, 
Or  has  basely  shrank  from  duty 
While  a  foe  defied  her  laws." 
16 


Jennie  heard  with  resignation 

Words  which  rent  her  loving  heart, 

And  with  self-control  heroic 
Saw  him  hastening  to  depart. 

Thus  to  country's  cause,  her  daughters 

Truest  loyalty  displayed, 
And  in  silent  grief  and  anguish 

Priceless  sacrifices  made. 

Though  these  men,  their  homes  were  leaving 
For  long  months,  perhaps  for  years, 

Few  the  days,  they  gave  to  grieving, 
Few  to  vain  regrets  and  fears. 

Well  we  knew  that  of  their  number, 

Many  loyal  hearts,  and  true, 
Would  be  stilled,  and  now  their  loved  ones 

Listened  to  their  last  adieu. 

At  the  hour  for  final  parting, 
Matthew  came  to  Jennie's  side, 

In  whose  wildly  throbbing  bosom, 
Mingled  tenderness  and  pride. 
2  17 


One  last  kiss  he  gave  his  baby, 
Took  a  fond  farewell  of  wife, 

And  upon  his  country's  altar 
Laid  his  honor  and  his  life. 


CAPTAIN  HENRY  LEAVING   FUR  THE  BATTLEFIELD. 


"One  last  kiss  lie  gave  his  baby 
rook  a  fond  farewell  of  wife."" 


CHAPTER  II. 

Just  how  eagerly  the  papers 

Now  were  looked  for,  seized  and  read, 
Only  those  can  well  remember 

Who  perused  with  fear  and  dread. 

And  in  homes,  what  desolation 
Has  their  columns  often  wrought ! 

Oh,  how  many  hearts  been  broken 
By  the  messages  they  brought ! 

But  as  Jennie  watched  their  record, 
Oft  her  heart  with  pride  was  thrilled. 

As  she  learned  her  noble  husband 
Had  so  well  his  trust  fulfilled. 

Valorous  was  he  in  battle, 

Loved  by  all  in  his  command ; 

None  had  ever  led  more  wisely, 
Or  a  braver  little  band. 
19 


Jennie  had  her  little  weakness, 
As  have  mortals,  one  and  all, 

While  so  fondly  proud  of  Matthew, 
She  forgot  that  he  might  fall. 

Though  unbounded  the  devotion 

Of  this  loyal  little  wife, 
Still  her  dreams  were  of  promotion 

Which  might  crown  her  husband's  life. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  after  dreadful  carnage, 

Which  had  thinned  our  bravest  ranks, 
One  of  those  dire,  useless  conflicts 

Where  the  officers  were  cranks, 

When  among  our  fallen  heroes, 

The  dispatches  briefly  said, 
That  the  gallant  Captain  Henry 

Was  reported  to  be  dead. 

True,  they  had  not  found  his  body, 
But  his  comrades  saw  him  fall ; 

And  upon  that  little  household 
Fell  the  tidings  like  a  pall. 

Oh,  the  bright  dreams  now  are  over ! 

And  the  night  of  grief  is  come, 
Jennie,  broken-hearted  Jennie ! 

Sits  within  a  darkened  home. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  SECOND. 

>rPlS  sad  to  think  that  wars  will  come 

To  wreck  and  rob  the  sacred  home, 
And  all  the  cherished  ties  of  life 
Be  sacrificed  to  blood  and  strife. 

But  thus  it  is,  has  always  been, 
Since  Cain  first  steeped  his  soul  in  sin, 
And  raised  his  fratricidal  hand, 
Bloodshed  and  war  have  cursed  the  land. 

O  blessed  day !  when  we  shall  see 
The  dawn  of  earth's  grand  Jubilee ; 
When  envy,  malice,  strife  shall  cease, 
And  reigns  o'er  all  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


23 


PART   SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OUT,  while  I  ponder  and  reflect, 
My  humble  story  I  neglect ; 
I  will  the  broken  thread  resume, 
Lest  on  your  patience  I  presume. 

Three  years  have  passed  o'er  Jennie's  head 
Since  peace  her  snowy  pinions  spread 
Once  more  above  our  native  land. 
Time  touched  her  with  no  gentle  hand, 
For  on  that  fair  and  comely  face 
Has  sorrow  plainly  left  its  trace. 
Her  eyes  are  sadly  dimmed  by  tears 
She  shed  in  these  dark,  lonely  years. 
But  for  her  child  she  fain  would  die, 
And  lay  life's  heavy  burden  by, 
24 


Find  in  the  silent  grave  repose 
And  blest  release  from  earthly  woes. 
But  she  reflects,  to  her  was  given 
This  child,  the  choicest  gift  of  heaven, 
For  her  to  train  and  guide  in  youth 
In  paths  of  purity  and  truth. 

Her  Maggie  is  a  lovely  child 

Of  winning  sweetness  when  she  smiled  ; 

She  had  her  father's  eye  of  blue 

And  clustering  curls  of  sunny  hue ; 

A  joyous  little  sprite  is  she 

And  seems  just  bubbling  o'er  with  glee. 

Though  still  too  young  to  sympathize 
With  grief  that  dims  her  mother's  eyes, 
Her  witching  ways  and  merry  mood 
Oft  do  the  mother  untold  good ; 
And  Jennie,  for  her  daughter's  sake, 
Strove  from  her  lethargy  to  wake, 
To  less  indulge  in  sorrow  wild, 
And  make  life  pleasant  for  her  child. 
In  blessing  others  all  are  blest, 
And  Jennie's  aching  heart  found  rest, 

25 


And  learned  in  time  this  truth  to  know, 
That  life  could  blessings  still  bestow ; 
Learned  that  she  had  in  heaven  a  friend 
Whose  love  and  care  could  never  end, 
And  is  submissive  to  His  will, 
That  He  would  guide  and  bless  her  still. 
Again  a  peaceful  smile  she  wore 
And  mingled  with  the  world  once  more. 

Jennie,  though  always  frugal,  still 
Had  little  monetary  skill. 
Her  simple  wants  had  been  supplied 
By  funds  which  Matthew  laid  aside, 
At  length  these  failed,  her  farm  was  tilled 
But  poorly,  and  by  hands  unskilled ; 
And  now  the  fear  of  want  supplies, 
The  complement  of  miseries. 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  the  vine 
Seen  round  some  firm  support  to  twine, 
But  often  are  its  tendrils  torn 
And  the  frail  growth  is  downward  borne 
As  the  firm  prop  is  rent  away 
And  prostrate,  without  strength  or  stay, 
26 


Lies  all  this  beauty  which  we  prize 
Unable  from  the  dust  to  rise. 

Like  and  unlike  the  clinging  vine 

Was  this  brave  heroine  of  mine ; 

She  leaned  on  Matthew's  stronger  arm, 

Nor  never  dreamed  that  want  could  harm, 

Till  when  in  battle  he  was  slain, 

And  she,  o'erwhelmed  with  grief  and  pain, 

Now  seemed  in  her  extreme  distress 

To  sink  in  utter  helplessness. 

But  grief  indulged  from  day  to  day 

Soon  saps  the  energies  away, 

While  no  relief  it  gives,  the  mind 

Is  for  life's  duties  disinclined. 

When  Jennie  came  this  truth  to  see 

She  fought  her  fate  heroically, 

And  rising  with  a  purpose  stern 

Soon  made  her  home-light  brightly  burn. 

Her  mind  had  carefully  been  trained, 
At  an  Ann  Arbor  school  she  gained, 
Like  many  daughters  of  our  state, 
The  honors  of  a  graduate. 
27 


Her  knowledge  to  account  she  turned, 
Soon  with  her  pen  a  sum  she  earned, 
Which  with  the  rent,  amply  supplied 
Their  needs,  and  luxuries  beside. 
Thus  she  wrought  on  with  hand  and  brain, 
And  found  in  labor,  ease  for  pain. 

And  now  the  busy  days  went  by, 
It  seemed  to  Jennie,  rapidly. 
Her  Margaret  had  reached  the  age 
When  she  in  study  must  engage, 
Nor  longer  all  her  time  be  spent 
In  play,  and  now  to  school  was  sent 
While  Jennie  spent  long  lonely  days 
Missing  her  daughter's  sunny  ways. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Near  Jennie's  modest  little  home 
A  quiet  man  had  lately  come 
And  bought  the  farm  and  residence 
Which  once  was  owned  by  Joseph  Spence. 
Joseph  for  country  gave  his  life, 
And  grief  soon  killed  his  frail  young  wife ; 
His  children  to  an  uncle  went 
Who  left  the  farm  for  sale  or  rent. 
But  war  had  thinned  the  ranks  of  men, 
And  many  farms  were  vacant  then  ; 
Thus  had  it  been  with  Joseph's  place 
'Till  purchased  by  Nathaniel  Mace. 

The  man  whose  name  now  first  appears 
Had  been  a  wanderer  for  years  ; 
But  lately  left  a  foreign  shore 
And  sought  his  native  land  once  more, 
And  in  the  humble  tale  we  trace 
His  name  will  fill  an  honored  place. 
29 


An  orphan  he  was  early  left 
Of  every  kindred  tie  bereft, 
Except  some  cousins  in  the  West. 
Nathaniel,  with  a  vague  unrest, 
While  still  a  youth  had  left  his  home 
For  years  in  foreign  lands  to  roam. 
He  sought  all  lands  which  tourists  seek, 
And  learned  their  languages  to  speak  ; 
He  saw  all  sights  which  tourists  see, 
Listened  to  foreign  minstrelsy, 
And  yet  the  land  which  gave  him  birth 
Still  seemed  the  fairest  spot  on  earth ; 
His  mother  tongue  had  still  for  him 
More  music  than  cathedral  hymn. 

Yearning  to  see  his  home  once  more 
He  left,  at  length,  the  distant  shore 
And  now,  a  lonely  homesick  man, 
Had  drifted  into  Michigan. 

His  destination  the  far  West, 
But  tarrying  for  awhile  to  rest 
At  Thorndale,  lying  in  his  way 
He  lingered  on  from  day  to  day. 

30 


Won  by  the  beauty  of  the  place, 
Our  traveler,  Nathaniel  Mace, 
Tired  of  the  roving  life  he  led, 
Purchased  the  farm,  as  we  have  said, 
And  there,  his  weary  wanderings  past, 
He  found  a  peaceful  home  at  last. 

His  farm  soon  blossomed  like  the  rose, 
He  found  good  friends  and  made  no  foes, 
And  seemed  in  every  way  to  be 
A  man  of  strict  integrity. 
His  neighbors  "held  him  in  esteem, 
And  his  success  was  oft  their  theme ; 
His  friends  had  often  seemed  perplexed, 
And  some  good  wives  were  fairly  vexed 
To  think  that  such  a  man  as  he 
A  staid  old  bachelor  should  be. 

But  at  his  warm  and  honest  heart 
Cupid  had  never  aimed  a  dart ; 
Of  women  he  was  somewhat  shy, 
He  hardly  knew  the  reason  why ; 
Perhaps  he  had  not  met  his  fate, 
But  it  was  getting  rather  late, 


For  he  was  now  in  middle  life, 
With  every  comfort,  but  a  wife. 
There  lived  within  his  neighborhood 
A  score  of  maidens,  fair  and  good, 
But  to  their  charms  he  seemed  too  blind, 
Their  flattering  coquetries  to  mind, 
And  plodding  on  from  day  to  day, 
He  calmly  went  his  lonely  way. 

Of  books  he  had  a  goodly  store 
And  seemed  to  prize  them  even  mote 
Than  crops  or  stock  or  meadow  land ; 
One  often  saw  him,  book  in  hand, 
Deeply  intent  on  farming  lore, 
Or  conning  some  rare  poem  o'er. 
His  books  were  his  companions  sweet 
And  seemed  to  make  his  life  complete. 

One  neighbor  gravely  shook  his  head, 
"  A  farmer  student  this,"  he  said, 
"  Although  the  man  I  much  respect 

I  fear  he  will  his  farm  neglect." 

But  for  such  fear  there  was  no  ground, 

As  everybody  shortly  found, 

32 


For  while  he  read  and  studied  much 
Everything  prospered  'neath  his  touch. 
A  quiet  smile  his  face  o'erspread 
When  told  of  what  his  neighbor  said, 
He  pleasantly  replied  at  once, 
A  farmer  need  not  be  a  dunce." 


33 


CHAPTER  III. 

And  such  a  man  was  he  who  came 

And  settled  near  our  little  dame, 

While  Jennie  rightly  judged  that  he 

A  valued  neighbor  was  to  be. 

He  saw  her  daily  toiling  hard 

And  had  for  her  a  kind  regard ; 
"  Poor  little  woman,"  and  he  sighed, 
"  Tis  sad  her  husband  should  have  died 

And  left  her  in  this  cruel  plight, 

Life's  battles  all  alone  to  fight." 

He  often  loaned  her  books  to  read, 
Thought  this  the  kindest  thing,  indeed, 
Which  he  could  do,  "  for  oft,"  said  he, 
"  Books  are  the  best  of  company." 
She,  too,  was  very  fond  of  books, 
And  thanked  him  with  such  grateful  looks, 
He  deemed  himself  more  than  repaid 
For  the  slight  efforts  he  had  made. 

35 


Months  passed,  their  friendship  grew 

apace, 

And  brighter  grew  each  earnest  face, 
So  calmly  did  their  lives  glide  on, 
'Twere  hard  to  tell  when  they  begun 
To  cherish  sentiments  so  sweet 
That  life  was  rendered  more  complete, 
At  least,  for  him  whose  manly  heart 
Had,  until  now,  remained  apart 
From  everything  akin  to  love ; 
For  him  the  stars  which  gleamed  above, 
Studding  the  azure  skies  at  night, 
Seemed  sparkling  with  an  added  light, 
And  birds  which  sang  in  sylvan  shade 
For  him  a  sweeter  music  made. 

Nathaniel  Mace  was  now  in  love ; 
In  such  eccentric  orbits  move 
This  passion  of  the  human  heart, 
Defying  every  rule  and  art, 
That  he  who  fled  from  maidens'  wile 
Was  conquered  by  the  widow's  smile, 
Cherished  for  her  a  love  so  true 
That,  with  the  latest  breath  he  drew, 
36 


It  burned  as  constant,  pure  and  bright, 
As  when  he  yielded  to  its  might. 

No  thought  did  Jennie  entertain 
That  she  could  ever  love  again  ; 
Her  heart  had  long  been  buried  deep 
In  Matthew's  nameless  grave  to  sleep, 
Till  she  from  earth  should  oass  away 
And  join  him  in  an  endless  day. 
True,  she  had  friendship,  firm  and  strong 
For  this  kind  friend  who  came  along 
And  threw  upon  her  lonely  way 
One  bright,  illuminating  ray 
That  often  cheered  her  lonely  life ; 
The  thought  that  she  might  be  his  wife 
Had  entered  not  her  busy  brain  ; 
He  came  and  went,  then  came  again 
Bringing  her  music,  books  and  flowers 
And  spending  many  happy  hours. 

With  Maggie  he  had  friendship  made ; 
The  two  would  wander  'neath  the  shade, 
And  laugh  and  chat  and  be  as  gay 
As  two  small  children  at  their  play. 
37 


For  her  he  always  had  a  smile 
Which  would  her  childish  woes  beguile ; 
To  him  the  wilful  little  sprite 
Was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  bright. 

A  very  timid  man  was  he, 
As  bachelors  are  apt  to  be, 
It  would  require  an  effort  great 
For  him  to  speak  and  learn  his  fate. 
Should  this  love  fail  to  crown  his  life 
No  woman  e'er  should  be  his  wife, 
This  to  himself  he  oft  would  say, 
Then  wait  a  more  auspicious  day. 
At  length,  he  summoned  courage  up 
To  learn,  for  him  what  filled  life's  cup, 
Held  it  a  draught  of  love's  delight  ? 
Or  one  his  happiness  to  blight  ? 

One  evening,  when  his  work  was  done, 
And  down  the  west  had  dropped  the  sun 
Into  a  sea  of  molten  gold, 
And  twilight  waited  to  enfold 
The  sweet  old  earth  in  robe  of  gray, 
Nathaniel  took  his  thoughtful  way 
38 


To  Jennie's  charming  home  once  more, 
Pondering  the  weighty  question  o'er. 

He  found  the  mother  and  her  child, 
Engaged  in  frolic  gay  and  wild, 
But  Jennie  paused  on  seeing  him 
And  was  again  a  matron  prim. 

Nathaniel  sat  down  quietly 

And  took  the  child  upon  his  knee, 

He  spoke  of  crops  and  weather  fine, 

Told  of  an  accident  at  a  mine, 

And  wandered  on  from  theme  to  theme, 

Like  vagrant  thought  in  troubled  dream, 

But  not  a  word  could  find  to  say 

Of  what  had  filled  his  mind  all  day. 

At  length  he  paused,  while  all  was  still 
The  blithe  song  of  the  whip-poor-will 
Floated  upon  the  evening  air 
And  seemed  to  him  an  omen  fair. 

Maggie  had  fallen  fast  asleep, 

And  now  her  breathing,  full  and  deep, 

39 


Roused  Jennie  from  a  reverie, 
"  I'll  put  the  child  to  bed,"  said  she. 
Nathaniel,  growing  bolder,  said, 
As  he  caressed  the  golden  head 
And  kissed  the  fair  and  childish  brow, 
"  Oh,  do  not  take  her  from  me  now, 
Give  her  to  me,  to  cheer  my  life, 
And  let  her  mother  be  my  wife ; 
You  hold  the  first  love  of  my  heart, 
I  cannot  live  from  you  apart." 

He  spoke  in  such  impetuous  way 
That  Jennie  knew  not  what  to  say ; 
At  length  she  spoke  with  tremb'ling  voice, 
"  I  am  surprised  at  this,  your  choice, 
I  long  your  friendship  have  esteemed, 
Of  aught  like  this  I  never  dreamed." 

With  heart  and  brain  in  tumult  wild 
She  gently  raised  the  sleeping  child, 
Strove,  as  she  robed  her  for  repose, 
Her  agitation  to  compose, 
And  when  again  she  sought  the  room, 
Nathaniel  hastened  to  resume. 
40 


"  This  may  come  suddenly  to  you, 
To  me  the  thought  is  nothing  new ; 
This  time  may  not  be  opportune, 
Perhaps  I've  spoken  quite  too  soon, 
To  me  it  seems  I've  waited  long, 
I  will  be  patient,  brave  and  strong, 
And  no  decision  you  may  make 
My  firm  regard  will  ever  shake." 

A  kind,  "  good  night,"  and  he  was  gone, 

Jennie  sat  musing  there  alone ; 

She  knew  this  man  who  sought  her  hand, 

Possessed  a  nature  good  and  grand, 

That  he  would  be  a  husband  true, 

A  father  to  her  daughter,  too. 

Matthew,  she  never  could  forget ! 
She  seemed,  indeed,  to  see  him  yet. 
The  hot  tears  gathered  one  by  one, 
While  thinking  of  the  loved  one  gone 
To  a  nameless  grave  in  Southern  soil ; 
Then  came  to  mind  the  years  of  toil 
Which  she  in  loneliness  passed  through, 
The  darkest  hours  one  ever  knew, 
41 


A  long  and  dreary,  starless  night 
With  scarce  a  single  ray  of  light 
Till  this  friend  came  and  day  by  day 
Spoke  cheering  words  in  kindly  way. 
How  could  she  send  him  from  her  now  ? 
A  warm  flush  mantled  cheek  and  brow, 
As  at  the  thought  of  losing  him, 
Again  her  eyes  with  tears  grew  dim, 
I  doubt  not  his  sincerity — 
Perhaps  I  better  bid  him  stay. 

But  little  sleep  had  she  that  night, 
And  rising  with  the  morning  light, 
Resumed  her  daily  tasks  and  tried 
Calmly  to  wait  the  evening-tide, 
For  well  she  knew  when  work  was  o'er 
He'd  seek  again  her  cottage  door. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  evening  came  so  sweet  and  cool, 
The  little  maid,  tired  out  at  school, 
Reposed  upon  her  snowy  bed ; 
The  mother  sat,  with  drooping  head, 
Praying  there  might  be  no  mistake 
In  the  grave  step  she  thought  to  take. 

As  thus  she  sat,  Nathaniel  came 
An  answer  to  his  suit  to  claim, 
And  they  talked  long  and  solemnly 
Of  what  the  future  was  to  be. 
She  said  the  tender  love  of  youth, 
She  could  not  promise  him  in  truth, 
Like  that  which  she  so  freely  gave 
To  him  who  fills  a  soldier's  grave, 
And  felt  a  sorrowful  concern, 
His  love  should  meet  so  poor  return  ; 
Said  he  deserved  a  better  fate, 
Than  choose  a  heart  so  desolate. 

43 


Nathaniel  said,  "  Give  me  the  right 
To  make  your  future  calm  and  bright ; 
I  ask  no  better  fate  to  know 
Than  win  the  love  you  may  bestow. 
I've  traveled  much,  in  many  a  clime, 
Seen  lovely  maidens  in  my  time, 
But  in  your  own  fair  face  I  see 
The  bright  star  of  my  destiny." 

So  'twas  arranged  between  the  two 

That  they  should  walk  life's  journey  through 

Together,  treading  hand  in  hand, 

Its  pathway  to  a  better  land. 

Nathaniel  said,  the  early  fall 

Must  see  them  settled  at  the  hall. 

The  autumn  came  with  golden  store 
Of  grain  and  fruit,  the  soft  winds  bore 
Across  the  meadows  sweet  perfume, 
Unrivaled  by  the  breath  of  June. 
The  wedding  day  was  drawing  near, 
Forgotten  now  was  Jennie's  fear, 
Nathaniel's  face  a  bright  smile  wore, 
For  his  misgivings  all  were  o'er ; 

44 


His  heart  with  sweet  emotions  thrilled, 
His  cherished  hope  would  be  fulfilled. 

Jennie  wished  the  affair  to  be 
Conducted  with  simplicity, 
And  he,  respecting  her  request, 
Said  it  should  be  as  she  thought  best. 
So  it  was  settled  that  a  few 
Intimate  friends  the  rite  should  view. 
Thus  Jennie  with  her  sweet  fair  face 
Was  wedded  to  Nathaniel  Mace. 


They  left  the  modest  little  home, 
Which  dear  to  Jennie  had  become, 
The  tiny  cottage  which  she  loved, 
And  to  Nathaniel's  mansion  moved, 
Which  he  enlarged  and  beautified 
For  the  reception  of  his  bride. 

Now,  Jennie,"  said  the  thrifty  Mace, 
I'll  put  a  good  man  on  your  place, 
And  when  our  Maggie  is  of  age, 
She'll  have  a  goodly  heritage." 

45 


A  happy  family  they  proved, 
Never  was  wife  more  dearly  loved, 
And  Maggie  said,  in  childish  glee, 
That  she  was  happy  as  could  be. 

A  father's  care  she  had  not  known 

And  to  Nathaniel  as  her  own, 

She  turned  in  childish  trust  and  love 

Which  could  not  fail  his  heart  to  move, 

And  never  to  his  dying  day, 

Did  he  that  childish  trust  betray. 

Two  years  of  sweet,  contented  life, 
Pass  o'er  Nathaniel  and  his  wife, 
And  now  their  hearts  are  closer  bound, 
By  a  new  tie  but  lately  found, 
A  baby  boy  has  come  to  them, 
The  rarest,  fairest,  brightest  gem 
That  ever  fell  to  human  lot. 
Their  home  always  a  sacred  spot 
Has  now  an -added  tie  to  bind 
Them  to  each  other,  and  mankind. 
A  very  happy  man  is  Mace 
And  fairly  radiant  is  his  face. 
46 


This  cherished  baby  finely  throve 

Beneath  their  watchful  care  and  love ; 

The  sister  hast'ned  tasks  to  learn, 

That  she  the  sooner  might  return 

To  where  the  winsome  baby  boy 

Would  greet  her  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

'Twas  soon  her  task,  when  days  were  bright, 

To  guide  his  little  feet  aright ; 

And  patiently,  from  day  to  day, 

She  taught  him  pretty  words  to  say,  ., 

And  an  attachment,  strong  and  true, 

Between  the  children  daily  grew. 


47 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  parents  went,  one  summer  day, 
To  make  some  purchases  at  A — 
Leaving  the  child  in  Maggie's  care ; 
They  were  a  pretty  loving  pair, 
And  in  a  deep  arm-chair  they  sat, 
Filling  the  time  with  merry  chat, 
Till  it  grew  near  his  hour  for  rest, 
And  sleep  the  little  eyes  oppressed, 
Then  she  arose,  with  careful  tread, 
And  placed  him  in  his  cradle  bed ; 
Then  sitting  by  his  side  to  read, 
Of  other  objects  took  no  heed. 

She  noticed  not  a  man  who  lay 
Beneath  the  trees  across  the  way. 
Weary  was  he  and  travel  worn, 
His  army  blue  was  soiled  and  torn  ; 
Arising  very  slowly  he 
Now  leaned  against  the  nearest  tree, 

4  49 


And  standing  there  beneath  the  oak, 
Thus,  softly  to  himself,  he  spoke. 
"  Well,  they  are  gone,  I'm  truly  glad ! 
It  seemed  awhile  I  must  go  mad, 
I'm  very  thirsty,  and  I  think 
I'll  venture  now  and  ask  for  drink." 
He  crossed  the  road  with  effort  great, 
Then  pausing  leaned  upon  the  gate. 
Unnoticed  still  was  his  approach, 
By  the  small  maiden  on  the  porch. 

He  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  scene, 
The  farmhouse  white  embowered  in  green, 
The  vine-wreathed  porch  and  occupants, 
Like  one  by  vision  fair  entranced ; 
Then  such  a  look  came  to  his  eyes, 
As  Adam  wore  when  Paradise 
Behind  him  closed  and  he  must  roam 
Forever  from  his  Eden  home. 
Then  reverently  he  bowed  his  head, 
"  God  bless  them  all,"  he  softly  said. 

A  glance,  and  Maggie  dropped  her  book, 
Sprang  to  her  feet  with  startled  look, 
50 


For  she  had  seen  the  man  at  last ; 

Her  heart  with  fear  beat  loud  and  fast, 

Why,  thought  she,  should  he  stand  and  wait, 

Leaning  so  idly  on  the  gate  ? 

Was  he  a  tramp  from  some  great  town  ? 

And  would  he  burn  their  buildings  down  ? 

Or  could  he  know  the  folks  were  gone, 

And  she  and  baby  there  alone  ? 

With  fears  like  these  her  musings  swarm, 

Until  she  notes  his  uniform  ; 

A  Union  soldier  he  has  been, 

Thought  Maggie,  with  a  troubled  mien ; 

She  had  been  told  that  very  day 

Always  to  turn  a  tramp  away. 

A  soldier  cannot  be  a  tramp, 

Mused  she,  and  then  her  eyes  grew  damp, 

My  father  was  a  soldier  too, 

We  should  befriend  the  boys  in  blue. 
"I'll  just  go  to  the  gate,"  said  she, 
"  Perhaps  he's  hungry,  I  will  see." 

She  spoke  to  him  respectfully, 
He  said  he  came  from  far  that  day, 

51 


Was  tired  and  thirsty,  too,  as  well, 
He  scarce  the  rising  tears  could  quell ; 
"  Come  in  and  rest,  sir,"  Maggie  said, 
And  to  the  house  the  way  she  led ; 
Then  she  invited  him  inside, 
The  farmhouse  door  was  open  wide, 
But  he  declined  and  said  'twere  best 
Within  the  charming  porch  to  rest. 
So  Maggie,  giving  him  a  chair, 
A  cooling  drink  went  to  prepare. 

He  was  so  thankful  and  polite, 
The  girl  had  quite  forgot  her  fright, 
And  when  he  asked  in  quiet  way 
Her  name  and  age,  without  delay, 
Or  thought  of  any  indiscretion, 
She  freely  answered  every  question. 

"  My  name  is  Margaret  Henry,  sir, 
My  father  in  the  Civil  War 
Was  killed  in  battle,  I've  been  told, 
When  I  was  only  three  years  old. 
My  age  is  twelve,  and  baby  Fred 
Will  soon  be  '.wo  years  old,"  she  said. 
52 


"  We  had  a  lovely  little  place, 
Till  mamma  married  Mr.  Mace, 
But  then  we  thought  it  best  to  come 
Here  to  this  larger,  better  home." 

The  stranger,  rising  suddenly, 
"  I  must  be  going  now,"  said  he, 
"  I  still  have  many  miles  to  go, 

And  travel  very,  very  slow." 

"  Your  home,  is  it  so  far  away, 
And  will  you  reach  it,  sir,  to-day  <>" 

"  I  have  no  home,"  the  man  replied, 

"  'Twere  well  had  I  in  battle  died ; 
But  now,  good-by,  'tis  growing  late." 
And  he  passed  through  the  garden  gate. 

As  Maggie  watched  him  out  of  sight, 

She  thought,  he  should  have  stayed  all  night. 

Just  then  the  baby  claimed  her  care, 

She  took  him  to  an  easy  chair, 

Where  they  together  rocked  and  sung 

Until  the  room  with  music  rung. 

53 


The  Maces  now  returned  from  town, 
Just  as  the  sun  was  going  down, 
And  Maggie,  with  a  childish  shout, 
Declared  they'd  bought  Arbela  out. 
So  busy  now  with  parcels  brought, 
The  stranger  vanished  from  her  thought 
Till  they  were  seated  at  their  tea, 
Then  it  recurring  suddenly, 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "while  you  were  gone 
A  poor  sick  soldier  came  along, 
He  leaned  upon  the  garden  gate 
And  there  he  seemed  to  hesitate 
Whether  'twere  better  to  come  in  ; 
He  was  so  weary,  pale  and  thin, 
That  I  was  not  at  all  afraid, 
But  bade  him  rest  here  in  the  shade, 
And  gave  him  lemonade  to  drink, 
Was  it  wrong,  mamma,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Had  he  not  been  a  soldier,  dear, 
You  would  have  shrank  from  him  in  fear, 
Perhaps  his  story  was  not  true, 
A  rogue  might  wear  a  coat  of  blue." 
54 


"  He  told  no  story,  mamma,  dear, 
But  only  sat  and  rested  here. 
He  was  so  kind  and  courteous  too, 
I  know  he  was  a  soldier,  true." 

"  Sound  argument,"  Nathaniel  said, 

"  I  doubt  not  but  the  truth  you  read, 

And  he  a  soldier,  '  honor  bright,' 

My  little  girl,  you  did  just  right." 


55 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Tiresome,  indeed,  and  useless  too, 
'Twould  be  to  follow  details  through, 
Their  lives  flow  on  so  smoothly  now, 
And  tame  is  farm  life,  all  allow. 

Nathaniel  added  to  his  store 
Of  wealth  each  season,  more  and  more. 
Some  said  it  puzzled  them  to  know 
Why  he  was  always  prospered  so. 
He  could  have  told  them  that  much  lies 
Within  the  books  which  they  despise. 
He  learned  to  work  the  wisest  way, 
And  therein  all  the  secret  lay. 

Maggie  was  gaining  wisdom,  too, 

With  school  life  she  would  soon  be  through. 

At  college  she  had  gained  a  store 

Of  musical  and  classic  lore, 

57 


And  soon  the  happy  time  would  come 
When  she  could  be  once  more  at  home. 

Thus  time  slipped  quietly  away, 
Till  suddenly  there  dawned  a  day, 
So  full  of  anguish  and  despair, 
Would  I  recital  could  forbear. 

The  old  farmhouse  was  hushed  and  still ; 

Nathaniel  Mace  was  very  ill, 

And  growing  worse  from  day  to  day, 

Fever  was  burning  life  away ; 

In  spite  of  the  physicians'  skill, 

He  lower  sank,  and  lower  still, 

Till  Jennie,  filled  with  anxious  fears, 

Summoned  the  famous  Dr.  Sears, 

Nathaniel's  friend,  and  thought  the  best 

Physician  living  in  the  West. 

He  watched  the  patient  night  and  day, 
And  soon  he  learned,  to  his  dismay, 
That  the  death-angel  even  now 
Laid  icy  hand  upon  his  brow, 
And  calling  Jennie  told  her  so, 
Said  nothing  could  avert  the  blow. 
58 


No  need  had  he  this  truth  to  tell, 
For  she  already  knew  it  well ; 
She  knew  the  faithful  heart  which  beat 
With  love  so  constant,  pure  and  sweet, 
Would  soon  be  still,  with  sorrow  strown, 
The  pathway  she  must  tread  alone. 

Within  his  room  the  husband  lay, 
And  calmly  breathed  his  life  away, 
And  heeded  not  the  anxious  prayer 
Of  one  who  knelt  heart-broken  there. 
All  through  that  long  and  dreadful  night, 
She  held  his  hand  so  limp  and  white, 
And  light  of  morning,  cold  and  gray, 
Fell  on  a  form  of  lifeless  clay. 

The  old  home  wore  a  mournful  air, 
For  aching  hearts  were  beating  there  ; 
But  let  our  griefs  be  what  they  will, 
We  must  our  destiny  fulfill  ; 
We  may  not  lay  our  burdens  down, 
Because  the  storm-clouds  darkly  frown, 
For  till  life's  evening  shadows  fall, 
Is  labor  still  required  of  all. 
59 


And  now  our  friends  took  up  the  thread 

Of  busy  life,  they  mourned  the  dead, 

Still  there  was  much  which  they  must  do, 

Their  duties  many,  strange  and  new. 

Jennie  said  that  the  farm  would  be 

To  Fred  a  valued  legacy. 

True  there  was  money  laid  away, 

Which  would  be  his  some  future  day, 

But  still  she  wished  the  farm  to  thrive 

As  when  Nathaniel  was  alive, 

And  to  accomplish  this  desire, 

She  strove  more  knowledge  to  acquire, 

That  she  might  better  fitted  be, 

The  management  to  oversee. 

Maggie,  who  studies  music  still, 

Acquires  each  day  a  greater  skill, 

The  organ  keys,  touched  by  her  hand, 

Respond  with  music  rich  and  grand, 

While  to  its  tones  a  voice  she  lends 

In  which  great  power  with  sweetness  blends. 

Jennie  in  work  still  comfort  finds, 
A  solace  this  for  troubled  minds, 
60 


Sure  it  to  her  has  been  a  boon, 

For  health  and  vigor  crown  life's  noon. 

Gray  threads  are  in  the  sunny  hair, 

But  Jennie  for  her  years  is  fair ; 

A  life  of  mingled  sun  and  storm 

Has  left  her  heart  still  young  and  warm, 

And  happy  in  her  children's  smile, 

We  now  will  leave  her  for  a  while. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  THIRD. 

HPO  you,  gentle  reader,  whose  patience  supreme 

Has  served  you  to  follow  my  somber-hued  theme, 
I  promise  a  respite,  ere  farther  we  go, 
From  numbers  o'erburdened  with  sorrow  and  woe. 

Our  hearts  have  grown  sick  of  a  grief-laden  strain, 
And  beat  not  responsive  to  measures  of  pain; 
Our  harpstrings  no  longer  to  sorrow  shall  wake, 
But  hope,  joy  and  gladness  the  silence  shall  break. 

And  you,  still  pursuing  the  drift  of  my  song, 
Shall,  basking  in  sunshine,  be  floated  along, 
And  all  which  breathes  sadness  be  hushed  for  a  time, 
While  sweet  wedding  bells  peal  a  beautiful  chime. 


PART  THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"POUR  years  have  swiftly  passed  away : 

How  fares  it  with  our  friends  to-day  ? 
Time  writes  his  signature  on  all ; 
His  hand  on  some  will  lightly  fall ; 
Thus  has  it  been  with  these  our  friends, 
A  smiling  heaven  above  them  bends, 
No  cause  have  they  in  these  late  years 
For  harrowing  grief  or  bitter  tears, 
As  all  is  peace  and  harmony, 
And  clear  the  azure  of  their  sky. 

The  baby,  now  a  sturdy  boy, 
His  loving  mother's  pride  and  joy, 
Is  growing  into  goodness  rare 
Beneath  her  wise  and  patient  care. 


Margaret  the  maiden,  fair  and  good, 
Grown  to  a  glorious  womanhood, 
Fulfills  the  promise  of  her  youth, 
The  soul  of  modesty  and  truth, 
Her  form  is  one  of  perfect  grace, 
And  bright  her  sweet  and  lovely  face ; 
Her  eyes  of  blue  with  kindness  beam, 
Emitting  now  and  then  a  gleam 
Of  the  old  roguish  willfulness, 
Which  makes  one  love  her  none  the  less. 
A  wreath  of  curling  golden  hair 
Surmounts  a  brow  as  smooth  and  fair 
As  ever  was  possessed  by  maid 
In  terraced  hall  or  sylvan  glade. 

Now  you  surmise,  without  a  doubt, 
That  others  too,  have  found  this  out. 
I  will  confess  that  this  was  true, 
For  she  has  suitors  not  a  few ; 
But  at  nineteen  this  girl  we  see 
Still  quite  heart  whole  and  fancy  free. 

One  morning  in  the  month  of  May, 
On  a  delightful  Sabbath  day, 
5  65 


When  every  bird  voice  was  in  tune, 
And  the  air  sweet  with  fruit  tree  bloom, 
Jennie  and  those  within  her  care, 
Departed  for  the  house  of  prayer. 

St.  Mark's  at  Thorndale,  they  attend, 
The  rector  is  an  old  time  friend, 
And  at  her  many  friends'  desire, 
Maggie  had  lately  joined  the  choir. 

Charmed  by  the  beauty  of  the  day, 
The  party  loitered  on  the  way, 
And  nearly  late,  with  blushing  face, 
Maggie  this  morning  took  her  place. 

Service  was  near  the  close  before 
She  glanced  the  congregation  o'er, 
She  then  observed  a  tall  young  man — 
And  thus  her  hurried  musings  ran, 
A  stranger  he  must  be  in  town, 
A  relative,  perhaps,  of  Brown, 
He  sure  an  honored  guest  must  be, 
Sits  with  the  Judge  himself,  I  see. 
They  now  commence  the  sacred  hymn, 
At  once  all  worldly  thoughts  grow  dim, 
66 


As  taking  her  accustomed  part, 
She  joined  in  praise  with  all  her  heart. 
The  sweet  old  music  rose  and  fell 
In  grand,  sublime,  majestic  swell, 
The  melting  strains  seemed  to  extend, 
And  with  the  benediction  blend 
As  the  man  of  God  in  reverent  way, 
Thus  closed  the  service  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Here  in  this  quiet  country  town 
Lived  rich,  respected,  old  Judge  Brown; 
Reticent,  gloomy  and  severe, 
And  often  looked  upon  with  fear. 
Beside  his  sweet-faced  little  wife, 
He  had  few  real  friends  in  life ; 
While  his  integrity  all  knew, 
Still  he  was  liked  by  very  few. 
He  had  no  child  his  love  to  claim, 
And  sterner  every  year  became. 
Perhaps  he  was  not  quite  as  cold 
As  many  stories  that  were  told, 
Would  make  the  worthy  man  appear, 
Rumors  are  often  false,  I  fear. 

One  day  as  guest  to  this  Judge  Brown, 
A  relative  had  come  to  town, 
A  nephew  he  had  never  known, 
An  only  sister's  only  son. 
68 


This  nephew,  Sterling  Gray,  was  now 
A  student,  and  his  pallid  brow 
Betokened  such  unceasing  toil 
As  might  its  very  object  foil. 
This  caused  his  mother  anxious  fear, 
She  said,  "  You  are  not  well,  my  dear, 
Just  lay  these  tiresome  books  away 
And  take  a  restful  holiday." 

She  called  her  old  physician  in, 
Who  said,  "  You  do  look  pale  and  thin, 
Just  rusticate  a  month  or  two, 
And  you'll  return  as  good  as  new. 
You've  pored  o'er  books  too  much  at  night 
And  need  a  dose  of  good  sunlight ; 
It  would  be  well  for  you,"  he  said, 
"  To  use  your  limbs  and  rest  your  head, 
Do  anything  that  comes  to  hand, 
But  first  of  all,  get  badly  tanned, 
Do  just  as  I  now  recommend 
And  you'll  need  nothing  else,  my  friend." 

And  having  had  his  candid  say 
The  good  old  doctor  went  away. 
69 


"  In  view  of  this,"  the  mother  said, 
"  I'll  voice  a  wish  I  long  have  had, 
That  you'd  adopt  my  cherished  plan 
And  spend  some  time  in  Michigan. 

"  I've  there  a  brother,  as  you  know, 
One  loved  in  the  sweet  long  ago, 
Perhaps  in  memory  of  those  days, 
He'll  lay  aside  his  austere  ways  ; 
'Tis  said  that  he  is  just  in  deal, 
But  has  a  heart  encased  in  steel. 

"  He  has  no  children  of  his  own 
And  in  the  world  is  quite  alone, 
If  we  except  the  dearest  wife 
Who  ever  brightened  such  a  life ; 
To  her  alone  will  he  unbend, 
At  least,  I  heard  this  from  a  friend. 
I've  not  seen  John  for  many  years, 
He  may  be  milder  than  my  fears 
Have  pictured  him,  for  I've  been  told 
That  daily  he  grows  stern  and  cold ; 
Then  too,  his  letters,  far  apart, 
Reveal  but  little  warmth  of  heart. 
70 


"  Go  see  this  uncle  in  his  home, 
From  out  this  visit  good  may  come. 
You  may  a  hearty  welcome  find, 
You'll  bear  from  me  a  message  kind ; 
Tell  him  that  in  the  dear  old  place 
Mary  would  gladly  see  his  face, 
Say  she  now  sends  her  only  boy 
And  hopes  that  it  may  give  him  joy 
To  learn  she  still  thinks  every  day 
Of  the  dear  brother  far  away. 
Perhaps  he  may  be  glad,  who  knows  ? 
And  ere  we  go  to  our  repose, 
Will  with  your  father  counsel  take 
And  should  he  no  objection  make, 
We'll  form  our  plans  without  delay, 
And  soon  will  see  you  on  your  way." 

The  father  spoke  the  project  fair, 
And  all  arrangements  made  with  care, 
And  soon,  one  pleasant  day  in  spring 
Sterling  commenced  his  journeying. 


CHAPTER  III. 

And  thus  it  chanced  in  early  May, 

A  youthful  traveler  took  his  way 

Through  Thorndale's  streets,  this  little  tovvr 

Where  stood  the  mansio/i  of  Judge  Brown. 

A  stranger  he,  one  could  discern, 

He  asked  the  way  at  every  turn, 

And  when  the  dwelling  caught  his  eye 

He  breathed  a  weary,  languid  sigh  ; 

Unused  to  travel,  weak,  depressed, 

He  reached  at  last  this  place  of  rest. 

His  journeying,  for  a  time,  was  o'er 
And  he  was  standing  at  the  door 
Of  relatives  he  never  saw, 
And  rung  the  bell  almost  with  awe. 
A  little  maiden,  neat  and  trim, 
Came  very  soon  to  answer  him ; 
"  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  to  see  Judge  Brown," 
The  girl  replied,  "  He's  out  of  town, 
72 


But  he  will  not  be  long  away. 
Returns,  I  think,  on  Saturday." 
"  I  am  his  nephew  from  the  East 
And  shall  remain  a  time,  at  least ; 
My  aunt,  is  she  at  home  to-day  ? 
Please  to  announce  me,  Sterling  Gray." 

The  aunt  soon  came,  with  smiling  face, 
And  met  him  with  a  warm  embrace, 

"  I'm  very  glad  you've  come,"  she  cried, 
As  she  bestowed  a  glance  of  pride, 

"  I  should  have  known  you  instantly 
By  the  last  photo,  sent  to  me. 
But  you  are  pale,  and  one  can  tell 
That  you  are  tired  and  far  from  well ; 
Rest  and  refreshment  you  must  need, 
And  supper  shall  be  served  with  speed." 

The  meal  dispatched,  they  soon  adjourned 
To  a  neat,  pleasant  room,  where  burned 
Within  the  grate  a  glowing  fire 
Which  the  cool  evenings  still  require. 
"  Now  take  this  couch,  my  tired  guest," 
Said  aunt,  "  I'll  talk,  but  you  must  rest 
73 


"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come 
To  see  us  in  our  quiet  home ; 
Your  parents  I  have  never  met, 
A  fact  I  very  much  regret, 
John  often  speaks  of  sister  May 
And  says  we'll  visit  her  some  day. 

"  Too  bad  your  uncle  is  not  here ! 
If  memory  serves  me,  'tis  a  year 
Since  he  has  been  so  long  away, 
He  seldom  makes  a  lengthy  stay ; 
Business  detains  him,  I  suppose, 
There  was  a  mortgage  to  foreclose." 
And  thus  she  chatted  gayly  on 
Telling  him  much  of  Uncle  John. 

"  He  is  regarded,  so  I  hear, 
By  some  as  heartless  and  severe, 
They're  wrong,  he  has  a  heart  of  gold 
And  it  is  neither  hard  nor  cold ; 
His  natural  reticence  appears 
To  grow  upon  him  with  his  years, 
But  he  is  just  as  good  and  kind 
As  if  to  gayety  inclined. 
74 


If  you,  my  dear,  should  win  his  love 
He  sure  a  steadfast  friend  will  prove." 
Thus  pleasantly  the  evening  passed 
And  they  retired  to  rest  at  last. 

The  morning  dawned,  a  glory  bright 
Succeeded  now  the  gloom  of  night, 
Pouring  its  radiance  o'er  the  scene 
Of  blooming  tree,  and  field  of  green, 
And  Sterling  Gray  stood  looking  down 
Upon  the  sleepy  little  town, 
Encircled  by  the  grainfields  wide, 
Stretching  away  on  every  side. 
A  restful  scene,  thought  Sterling  Gray, 
I  shall  not  haste  to  go  away, 
That  is,  should  uncle  fancy  me, 
He  comes  to-day  and  we  shall  see. 
The  summons  then  to  breakfast  came, 
He  saw  his  aunt  appeared  the  same 
As  she  had  done  the  night  before, 
And  knew  he'd  love  her  more  and  more. 

The  Judge  returned,  in  courteous  tone 
Gave  welcome  to  his  sister's  son, 
75 


Though  somewhat  wanting  in  the  charm 
Of  the  aunt's  greeting,  bright  and  warm, 
Which  he  received  the  previous  day, 
Lacked  not  in  hospitality. 

Thought  Sterling,  mother  judged  aright, 
He's  not  morose,  but  chilly  quite, 
But  if  I'm  wise,  without  a  doubt, 
I  shall  find  means  to  thaw  him  out. 

And  here  let  me  anticipate 
An  incident  of  later  date ; 
The  two  conversing,  it  appears, 
Spoke  of  professional  careers, 
The  uncle  asked  of  Sterling's  bent, 
To  what  his  talents  would  be  lent  ? 
At  the  reply,  "  I'm  reading  law," 
The  Judge's  smile  betokened  thaw, 
For  next  the  love  he  bore  his  wife, 
Came  this,  the  calling  of  his  life. 
Thus  oft  are  closest  friendships  based 
On  similarity  of  taste. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath  fair, 
And  to  the  church  they  all  repair. 
They  were  the  centre  of  all  eyes 
And  many  a  face  expressed  surprise, 
For  it,  indeed,  was  something  new 
To  see  a  stranger  in  that  pew. 

It  was  this  young  man,  Sterling  Gray, 
Whom  Maggie  saw  in  church  that  day ; 
She  took  but  little  notice  then 
And  scarcely  thought  of  him  again. 
But  Sterling  marked  her  winsome  grace, 
And  gazed  with  rapture  on  her  face ; 
And  when  she  sang,  a  voice  so  clear 
Fell  so  distinctly  on  his  ear, 
It  seemed  with  fervor  to  inspire, 
He  heard  no  other  in  the  choir ; 
It  rose  in  clear  exultant  strain 
Like  seraph's  song  on  heavenly  plain, 
Or  so  it  seemed  to  Sterling  Gray 
That  peaceful,  holy  Sabbath  day, 
77 


That  day  whose  light  would  shine  adown 
His  path  of  life  and  sweetly  crown 
With  sacred  halo  bright  and  clear 
The  days  of  each  succeeding  year. 

Silent  and  thoughtful,  Sterling  Gray 
Took  with  his  friends  the  homeward  way, 
And  later,  as  they  were  alone, 
Said  to  his  aunt  in  eager  tone, 
"  Who  is  the  girl  with  golden  hair, 
And  face  so  purely  sweet  and  fair, 
Who  sung  soprano  in  the  choir, 
With  fervid  reverential  fire 
That  fairly  lifted  one  above 
This  sordid  life  to  heavenly  love  ?" 

"  Just  stop  a  moment,  Sterling,  pray, 
You  nearly  take  my  breath  away," 
His  aunt  replied  in  jesting  tone, 

"  To  heights  of  fancy  you  have  flown, 
And  have  a  modest  country  maid 
In  angels'  raiment  now  arrayed. 
Come  back  to  earth  while  auntie  tells 
Just  where  your  sweet  enchantress  dwells. 


From  your  description,  I  should  say 
That  she  who  carried  you  away 
With  charming  voice  and  lovely  face 
The  daughter  is  of  Mrs.  Mace, 
Who  lives  a  little  way  from  town, 
Fine  people  too,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

The  daughter's  name  is  Henry,  though, 

Her  father  died  long  years  ago  ; 

She  is  a  mortal,  like  yourself, 

And  is,  withal,  a  willful  elf. 

Others  have  also  thought  her  fair, 

Indeed,  her  type  is  rather  rare. 

Now  this  is  all  I  have  to  say, 

But  if  upon  some  future  day 

You  wish  to  her  acquaintance  make, 

I'll  aid  the  matter  for  your  sake." 

The  little  woman  turned  to  go, 
The  nephew  whfstled  soft  and  low, 
And  thus  expressed  his  great  surprise 
At  the  acuteness  of  her  eyes. 
She  thinks  that  I  am  smitten,  quite, 
Perhaps  she  is  not  far  from  right. 
79 


CHAPTER  V. 

Not  many  weeks  had  slipped  away 
Before  our  young  friend,  Sterling  Gray, 
Had  found  a  little  shady  dell, 
Where  a  small,  limped  trout  stream  fell 
And  rippled  on  in  silver  sheen, 
Quite  overhung  with  maples  green, 
Which  shaded  from  the  sun's  fierce  rays, 
Through  all  the  long,  bright  summer  days. 

Here  in  his  favorite  retreat, 
Secure  alike  from  noise  and  heat, 
He  often  sat  with  line  and  hook, 

But  oftener  with  some  pleasant  book. 

•» 

One  day  he  thus  had  spent  an  hour, 
When,  lo  !  he  saw  a  summer  shower 
Swiftly  arising  in  the  west 
And  for  a  shelter  went  in  quest, 
80 


As  he  perceived  the  nearest  place 
To  be  the  home  of  Mrs.  Mace, 
Hitherward  bound,  with  agile  tread, 
He  through  the  field  and  meadow  fled, 
Reached  this  asylum  of  his  choice 
Where  dwelt  the  girl  whose  face  and  voice 
His  thoughts  had  cherished  since  the  time 
He  listened  to  the  hymn  sublime. 

The  longing  for  another  sight 

Of  that  sweet  face,  so  fair  and  bright, 

Was  gratified  without  delay ; 

The  flutter  of  a  robe  of  gray 

Now  caught  his  sight  as  Maggie  came 

To  train  a  rose  o'er  rustic  frame. 

Yes,  it  is  she,  he  sees  her  now, 

With  glowing  cheek  and  snowy  brow. 

As  in  the  vine-wreathed  porch  she  stood, 

A  type  of  fair,  sweet  womanhood. 

Approaching  her,  he  simply  said, 
"  I  from  the  rain  have  hither  fled." 
With  courtesy  she  bade  him  stay, 
And  to  the  parlor  led  the  way ; 

6  Si 


Then  he  made  known  to  her  his  name, 
And  said  that  he  but  lately  came 
To  pay  a  visit  in  the  town, 
And  was  a  nephew  of  Judge  Brown. 

A  handsome  youth  was  Sterling  Gray 
Of  very  mild  and  pleasing  way, 
He  now  conversed  his  best  with  ease, 
Striving  to  interest  and  please. 
An  hour  passed  sociably  away, 
The  sun  shone  out  writh  cheerful  ray, 
Enlivening  nature  with  its  glow ; 
Sterling  at  once  arose  to  go. 
Invited  then  to  call  again, 
He  did,  when  not  compelled  by  rain. 
In  calling  him  a  welcome  guest, 
I've  hardly  half  the  truth  expressed. 
'Tis  but  the  story,  sweet  and  old, 
Which  has  so  many  times  been  told 
That  I  need  not  repeat  it  here ; 
You  know  the  sequel,  reader,  dear. 


82 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Sterling  had  found  his  uncle's  heart, 
From  him  the  Judge  was  loth  to  part, 
Wrote  to  his  sister  that  he  should 
Keep  him  still  longer  if  he  could. 

"  I  have  no  son,"  the  old  man  said, 
"  He'll  be  my  heir  when  I  am  dead." 
So  Sterling  tarried  till  the  fall, 
Captive  to  love's  enchanting  thrall. 

Sweet  Margaret  had  won  his  heart, 
'Twas  sad,  indeed,  from  her  to  part, 
But  fast  the  time  was  drawing  on 
And  very  soon  he  must  be  gone. 
They  were  betrothed,  this  loving  pair, 
The  future  held  but  promise  fair, 
For  every  one  looked  on  to  bless 
And  wish  them  future  happiness. 
83 


Pain  sometimes  stirred  the  mother's  heart 
That  from  her  daughter  she  must  part ; 
By  such  emotion  she  was  moved 
Although  her  choice  she  quite  approved, 
And  would  consign  her  to  his  care 
With  perfect  trust,  and  fervent  prayer 
That  every  blessing  might  attend 
Her  darling  till  this  life  should  end. 

The  time  for  parting  came  at  last, 
And  Maggie's  tears  fell  thick  and  fast, 
But  Sterling  put  all  grief  aside 
And  strove  to  cheer  his  promised  bride, 
Saying  at  Christmas  he  should  come 
And  claim  her  for  his  very  own. 

His  aunt  could  not  her  tears  restrain, 
Even  the  Judge  himself  showed  pain 
As  Sterling  took  his  leave  that  day 
In  tender,  loving,  boyish  way. 
"  What  comfort,  wife,  a  boy  can  be, 
I'll  keep  that  youngster  here  with  me 
When  he  returns  from  his  trip  East ; 
It  will  not  hurt  me  in  the  least 
84 


To  set  up  handsomely  in  life 
My  nephew  and  his  chosen  wife." 

'Twas  thus  the  uncle  spoke  that  day 

After  his  nephew  went  away. 

And  this  man  was  the  same  Judge  Brown 

So  held  in  awe  by  all  the  town. 

Thus  triumphs  love  o'er  natures  hard 

And  brings  at  last  its  own  reward. 

Soon  preparations  were  begun 
For  all  the  work  which  must  be  done. 
Maggie  insisted  she  must  dwell 
Upon  the  place  she  loved  so  well ; 
And  then  the  Judge  said  he  should  give 
The  house  in  which  they  were  to  live. 

And  so  the  workmen  all  were  hired, 
And  the  materials  required 
Were  placed  upon  the  ground  where  stood 
The  home  of  Maggie's  babyhood. 
And  nearly  every  day  from  town 
Came  Sterling's  aunt,  good  Mrs.  Brown, 
85 


To  mark  the  progress  which  was  made, 

Advising  in  the  plans  they  laid 

For  beautifying  the  new  home 

To  which  her  nephew  was  to  come. 

Maggie  had  seen,  reluctantly, 
Her  tiny  cottage  torn  away  ; 
And  in  its  place  a  mansion  reared 
Of  such  proportions  that  she  feared 
They  could  not  furnish  as  they  ought. 
And  to  the  aunt  expressed  the  thought. 

The  dear  old  lady,  smiling,  said, 
"  With  such  fears  trouble  not  your  head, 
Sterling  is  not  possessed  of  wealth, 
But  he  has  industry  and  health, 
And  legal  knowledge  it  appears 
Attained  but  seldom  at  his  years ; 
Then  too  he  is  our  nearest  kin 
Has  chanced  his  uncle's  love  to  win. 
And  he  already  has  begun 
To  look  upon  him  as  a  son, 
And  yours  will  be  a  future  fair, 
Secured  by  faithful,  loving  care." 
86 


The  winter's  mantle,  pure  and  white, 
Falls  on  their  house  completed  quite. 
The  Christmas  time  is  drawing  near, 
And  Sterling  Gray  will  soon  be  here, 
With  him  will  come  his  parents  too, 
Who  wish  his  happiness  to  view. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  wedding  morn  dawns  bright  and  clear, 

A  perfect  day  for  Christmas  cheer, 

The  sun  shines  forth  in  splendor  bright 

Upon  the  earth  enrobed  in  white, 

And  sends  his  scintillating  beams 

O'er  snow-clad  trees  and  ice-bound  streams. 

The  church  at  Thorndale  now  is  seen 
Bedecked  with  vine  and  evergreen, 
And  scarlet  berries,  bright  and  gay, 
In  honor  of  the  wedding  day. 
'Twas  for  the  place  a  great  affair, 
A  specious  crowd  had  gathered  there ; 
Many  old  veterans  of  the  war 
Came  flocking  in  from  near  and  far, 
For  they  remembered  Matthew  well, 
And  now  their  rugged  faces  tell, 
Better  than  words  could  e'er  express, 
Joy  at  his  daughter's  happiness. 


The  bridal  party  now  draws  near 
And  as  they  at  the  church  appear, 
Pass  'neath  a  green  triumphal  arch, 
Are  greeted  by  the  wedding  march  ; 
And  now  the  grand  old  music  floats, 
With  swelling,  sweet,  enchanting  notes, 
While  with  each  strain  there  seems  to  blend 
The  wish  that  joy  their  steps  attend. 

As  they  approach  the  altar's  side 
The  bridegroom  and  the  fair  young  bride, 
The  rector,  reverend,  old  and  gray, 
Now  asks,  "  Who  gives  the  bride  away  ?" 

"  I  do,"  a  manly  voice  replies, 
And  they  behold  a  man  arise, 
Who,  standing  there  before  the  throng, 
Says  in  a  voice  bland,  sweet  and  strong, 

"  None  can  take  precedence  of  me,       * 
I'm  Matthew  Henry,  sir,"  says  he. 

A  tall  man  of  commanding  air, 
With  bright  blue  eyes  and  snowy  hair, 
Stood  there  in  captain's  uniform. 
Then  there  arose  a  deaf 'ning  storm 
89 


Of  wild  and  unrestrained  applause ; 
While  strangers  marveled  at  the  cause, 
Cheer  after  cheer  fell  on  the  air 
From  veterans  assembled  there. 
Despite  the  loss  of  vigorous  prime, 
Despite  the  ravages  of  time, 
Which  such  a  changed  appearance  gave, 
They  recognized  their  captain  brave. 

And  when  the  house,  at  length,  is  still, 
Matthew  proceeds,  in  tones  which  thrill 
Those  once  familiar  with  the  voice, 
"  Comrades,  it  makes  my  heart  rejoice 
That  you  thus  welcome  me  with  cheers, 

After  the  lapse  of  many  years  " 

But  here  he  paused,  with  blanching  face, 
For  just  before  him  Mrs.  Mace 
Had  slipped  upon  the  floor  and  lay 
With  face  of  deathly  ashen  gray. 

"  O,  Jennie  !"  Matthew  wildly  said, 
"  O,  darling  !  say  you  are  not  dead  ! 
Oh  !  have  I  killed  the  precious  wife, 
For  whom  I'd  gladly  give  my  life?" 
90 


And  as  he  speaks  her  pale  lips  frame 
That  loved  and  ne'er  forgotten  name. 

"  Matthew,  dear  Matthew  !  is  it  you  ?" 
Her  gaze  now  sought  those  eyes  of  blue 
Which  met  hers  with  a  steady  light — 
Then  all  became  as  dark  as  night. 

Swoon  follows  swoon,  till  friends  now  fear 
That  the  grim  messenger  is  near ; 
But  slowly  she  revives ;  at  length, 
And,  with  her  now  returning  strength, 
Rises  from  the  encircling  arm, 
Matthew  threw  round  her  in  alarm  ; 
"  I'm  better  now,"  she  softly  said, 
And  to  her  seat  was  gently  led. 

Matthew,  now  mindful  of  the  crowd, 
Says,  "  There  should  be  no  sombre  cloud 
Upon  our  daughter's  wedding  day, 
So  let  the  rite  proceed,  I  pray." 

The  sacred  ceremony  o'er, 

Matthew  addressed  them  all  once  more  : 

91 


"  Friends,  comrades,  neighbors,"  now  he  said, 
"  For  many  years  you've  thought  me  dead, 

Believe  me,  I  have  done  no  wrong, 

My  story  is  too  sad  and  long 

To  tell  at  such  a  time  as  this, 

When  naught  should  mar  our  happiness ; 

The  time  will  come  when  you  shall  hear 

The  story  of  my  sad  career." 

Then  Maggie  spoke,  the  fair  young  bride, 
"  Father,  come  home  with  us,"  she  cried, 
"  Ours  is  the  first,  most  sacred  right, 

We  must  your  story  hear  to-night ; 

Your  weary  wanderings  now  must  cease, 

Henceforth  you'll  know  but  rest  and  peace." 

And  so  around  their  cheerful  light 
They  list'ning  sat  that  Christmas  night, 
While  Matthew  told  with  many  tears, 
The  tale  of  intervening  years  ; 
And  I  will  try,  my  readers  dear, 
To  reproduce  the  story  here. 


THE  VETERAN'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  'TVHE  years  of  sixty-one  and  two 

Were  dreadful  years  for  boys  in  blue. 
Virginia's  soil  was  damp  and  red 
With  blood  contending  armies  shed, 
For  many  miles  the  country  round 
Was  one  continuous  battle-ground. 
At  the  second  battle  of  Bull  Run, 
Where  fell  full  many  a  gallant  son, 
I  too,  fell  wounded  in  the  head 
And  comrades  doubtless  thought  me  dead; 
But  fate  had  other  things  in  store 
And  I  returned  to  life  once  more. 

"  How  long  in  stupor  deep  I  lay 
I  never  yet  could  truly  say  ; 

93 


When  I  to  consciousness  returned 
And  light  of  reason  feebly  burned, 
I  was  within  a  rebel  pen 
With  many  other  Union  men. 

"  Awful,  indeed,  was  then  our  fate ! 
Its  horrors  I  can  scarce  relate ; 
Our  tortures  were  increased  each  day 
Till  we  resolved  to  get  away ; 
To  lose  our  lives  by  captors'  wrath, 
Were  better  than  a  living  death. 

"  But  three  of  us  were  in  the  plot, 
To  others  we  dared  breathe  it  not, 
But  cautiously,  with  patient  care, 
We  made  an  excavation  there, 
A  little  hole  beneath  the  wall 
Through  which  a  man  could  barely  crawl; 
And  I  will  nothing  further  say 
Than  this,  one  night  we  stole  away. 
We  did  not  dare  to  keep  together, 
Lest  the  foe  our  track  discover, 
But  parting  soon  as  we  were  out, 
Each  took  his  lonely  way  in  doubt. 
94 


"  I  still  was  very  weak  indeed 
And  therefore  made  but  little  speed. 
I  kept  within  the  forest  dense, 
Its  shade  my  only  poor  defence, 
And  through  the  darkness  of  the  night 
I  took  my  slow  and  toilsome  flight. 

"  Exhausted  by  the  want  of  food, 
I  slowly  traveled  through  the  wood ; 
I  feared  to  rest  by  night  or  day 
Lest  lurking  foe  beset  my  way. 

"  How  long  the  time  I  cannot  state, 
Three  or  four  days,  at  any  rate, 
I  had  not  tasted  food  or  drink 
And  soon  must  from  exhaustion  sink. 
I  knew  that  I  ere  long  must  yield, 
When  lo  !  I  saw  an  open  field. 

"  I  mustered  my  remaining  strength 
And  left  the  wood  behind  at  length ; 
And  soon  I  saw,  O  joyful  sight! 
A  stream  of  crystal  water  bright. 
95 


I  crept  in  weakness  to  the  brink, 
But  striving  to  obtain  a  drink 
Fainting  I  fell  upon  the  ground 
Oblivious  to  all  around. 
What  now  my  checkered  life  befel 
I  gather  from  what  others  tell. 


96 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Some  negroes  found  me  by  the  brook 
And  kindly  to  their  cabin  took 
My  wasted  and  enfeebled  form. 
These  dusky  friends  with  hearts  so  warm, 
Fought  long  with  fever  for  my  life 
And  came  off  victors  in  the  strife. 

"  They  laid  my  army  blue  away 
And  clothed  me  in  a  suit  of  gray, 
Well  knowing  that  my  uniform 
Would  soon  about  me  bring  a  swarm 
Of  cruel  and  relentless  foes, 
Unmoved  by  sight  of  human  woes. 
I  was  permitted  there  to  dwell 
Till  I  again  seemed  strong  and  well ; 
But  though  my  strength  I  had  regained 
My  mind  in  feeble  state  remained. 
7  97 


"  A  generous  planter  living  near 
Chanced  of  my  wretched  state  to  hear; 
Feeling  an  interest  in  my  case 
He  gave  me  work  upon  his  place, 
And  further  disregarding  price, 
Sought  for  me  medical  advice. 
All  this,  however,  proved  in  vain, 
My  wound  and  illness  wrecked  my  brain. 

"  Almost  an  imbecile  I  seemed, 
A  few  dim  rays  of  reason  gleamed 
At  times  across  my  blighted  mind 
Yet  left  no  memory  behind. 
But  for  this  Southern  friend,  I  fear 
Hard  had  I  fared  for  many  a  year. 

"  One  summer  day  he  bade  me  go 

Down  to  the  pasture  lot  below 

And  bring  some  horses,  but,  said  he 
'  Be  sure  to  lead  them  carefully, 

For  they  are  young,  unbroken  quite, 

And  so  will  easily  take  fright.' 

Complying  cheerfully,  I  went, 

Was  seldom  disobedient; 


CAPTAIN  HEXRY  RKSCUJvD  BY  I.OYAI, 


But  like  a  willful,  wayward  child 
I  now  devised  a  project  wild. 

"  I  singled  out  a  fiery  black 
And  nimbly  vaulted  on  his  back. 
Scared  by  the  unaccustomed  load, 
He  fled  in  terror  down  the  road ; 
He  strove  to  throw  me  off  in  vain, 
I  clung  with  both  hands  to  the  mane. 
The  planter  learned  what  I  had  done 
And  started  out  upon  the  run ; 
But  we  flew  past  him  like  the  wind 
And  soon  had  left  him  far  behind. 
In  wild  pursuit  he  followed  on 
Knowing  full  well  I  must  be  thrown. 
At  length  the  colt  with  sidewise  bound 
Threw  me  with  force  upon  the  ground. 

"  And  there  I  lay  like  one  in  death, 
Not  a  pulsation,  not  a  breath 
Could  they  discern  who  found  me  there 
And  bore  me  home  with  tender  care, 
Where  in  that  dreadful,  deathlike  swoon 
I  lay  from  nine  o'clock  till  noon, 
99 


Then  through  my  frame  there  passed  a  thrill 
Which  proved  that  I  was  living  still. 

"  As  life  came  back,  though  strange  to  tell, 
My  memory  returned  as  well ; 
And  as  my  strength  grew  day  by  day 
Reason  once  more  resumed  her  sway. 
The  sudden  shock  restored  me  quite, 
My  darkened  mind  was  clear  and  bright. 

"  I  learned  how  time  had  slipped  away 
While  life  for  me  in  shadow  lay, 
And  I  shed  many  bitter  tears 
While  thinking  of  the  flight  of  years. 

"  I  told  my  story  and  revealed 
That  which  the  blacks  so  long  concealed. 
My  heart  goes  out  to  that  kind  friend 
So  prompt  a  helping  hand  to  lend. 
He  saw  my  heart  was  anguish-riven, 
His  sympathy  was  freely  given, 
E'en  after  learning  with  surprise 
That  I  had  been  in  such  disguise. 

100 


"  He  always  thought  me  some  poor  scamp 
Who  straggled  from  a  Southern  camp 
And  met  with  injury  on  the  way, 
You  know  he  found  me  clad  in  gray. 

"  One  day  he  called  his  servant  Jim 
And  very  closely  questioned  him  ; 
Poor  Jim,  surrounded  and  coerced, 
Confessed  at  last  the  very  worst ; 
He  feared  I  might  be  blamed,  you  see, 
And  so  exonerated  me. 

'  Yes,  sah,'  said  he,  '  'twas  me  and  Mose 
Dat  put  him  into  dem  gray  clo's, 
He  was  too  weak  to  raise  his  han', 
Ize  all  to  blame,  you  understan', 

De  gemman,  sah,  was  bery  low  ' 

' '  There,  said  the  planter,  you  may  go, 
I  ought  to  hang  you,  but  'tis  best, 
Since  you're  so  terribly  distressed, 
To  let  you  off,  go  to  your  corn.' 
Jim  looked  heart-broken  and  forlorn, 
He  started  with  alacrity, 
Making  a  sly  grimace  at  me, 


He  rolled  his  brown  expressive  eye 
With  all  a  negro's  drollery. 

"When  Jim  was  gone,  he  calmly  said, 
'  It  seems  that  I  have  been  misled, 

But  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you 

Were  not  deceitful  or  untrue. 

Remain  awhile  my  honored  guest, 

And  may  your  future  life  be  blest.' 

"  'Twas  then  I  learned  to  know  his  worth, 
No  nobler  heart  beats  at  the  North. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  As  soon  as  I  was  fully  sure 
That  permanent  had  been  my  cure, 
I  started  for  my  Northern  home 
To  learn  what  changes  there  had  come. 

"  I  schooled  myself  to  bear  surprise, 
Prepared  for  all  that  might  arise, 
Knowing  how  many  years  had  fled 
Since  loved  ones  must  have  thought  me  dead. 
And  when,  at  last,  I  neared  my  home, 
I  very  cautious  had  become, 
Resolved  no  censure  e'er  should  rest 
On  those  my  absence  had  distressed. 

"  Well  founded  too,  were  my  vague  fears, 
I  learned  my  wife  had  been  for  years 
United  to  a  worthy  man.  , 

I  cautiously  matured  a  plan 
103 


By  which,  before  I  left  the  place 
I  might  behold  my  daughter's  face ; 
And  so  one  pleasant  summer  day — 


'  O  father  dear !'  cried  Maggie  Gray, 
'  I  see  it  plainly  now,  I  think, 

You  are  the  man  who  asked  for  drink. 

I  thought  that  you  were  sick  and  weak, 

I  never  saw  a  paler  cheek.' 

"  I  was  not  sick,  though  far  from  strong, 
And  wearied  by  my  journey  long; 
Quite  shaken  too,  by  harrowing  thought 
Of  changes  which  the  years  had  wrought. 
My  darling  child  you  cannot  know 
The  pain  with  which  I  turned  to  go ; 
I  felt  that  o'er  that  garden  gate 
As  inexorable  as  fate, 
An  angel  stood  before  my  eyes 
To  banish  me  from  Paradise. 

"  I  could  not  tear  myself  away 
For  any  length  of  time  to  stay ; 
I  wishedtto  know  just  what  befel 
The  dear  ones  whom  I  loved  so  well, 
104 


And  in  the  country  have  been  known 
By  other  names,  but  not  my  own. 
I  of  your  marriage  knew,  my  dear, 
And  felt  that  duty  called  me  here ; 
While  I  congratulate,  rejoice 
That  you  have  made  so  wise  a  choice ; 
My  blessing  cordially  bestow, 
'Tis  all  I  have  to  give,  you  know." 

Jennie  was  weeping  silently, 
Hers  seemed  a  speechless  agony, 
Matthew,  addressing  her,  now  said, 
"  Many  the  tears  we  both  have  shed  ; 
But  if  you  choose  to  bid  me  stay, 
I  never  more  will  go  away. 
I  now  am  penniless  and  old, 
On  me  have  years  of  sorrow  told, 
Still  if  you  prize  my  broken  life 
I  shall  be  proud  to  call  you  wife." 


"  O  Matthew  !"  Jennie  now  replied, 
"  I  thought  in  battle  you  had  died, 
I  did  not  mean  to  do  you  wrong, 
I  had  been  lonely,  Oh,  so  long!"— 
105 


"  There  was  no  wrong  committed,  dear, 
You're  free  from  censure,  that  is  clear, 
On  no  one  rests  a  shade  of  blame ; 
Naught  that  could  blot  the  fairest  name. 
And  if  our  children  will  delay 
Their  journey  for  another  day, 
With  your  approval,  Jennie,  dear, 
We'll  have  another  wedding  here." 

Before  they  sought  their  rest  that  night, 

Was  settled  every  detail,  quite, 

Matthew  had  said,  with  glist'ning  eyes, 
"  Pray  let  us  plan  a  great  surprise, 
Ask  all  the  veterans  around 
Who  on  short  notice  can  be  found, 
And  our  old  neighbors,  far  and  near, 
The  story  of  my  life  to  hear ; 
When  the  chief  incidents  are  told, 
They  shall  the  marriage  rite  behold." 

The  guests  assembled,  one  and  all, 
Till  fairly  crowded  was  the  hall ; 


With  many  wondering  comments  they 
Heard  all  that  Matthew  had  to  say, 
106 


CAPTAIN   HENRY  IS  AGAIN   HAPPILY   UNITED   IN   MARRIAGE. 


Then  warmly  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
Declaring  him  a  hero  grand. 

And  thus  the  time  had  sped  away, 
Till  near  the  closing  of  the  day, 
And  Matthew  to  his  guests  had  said, 
"  Dear  friends,  this  evening  I  shall  wed 
The  only  idol  of  my  heart, 
And  we,  till  death,  no  more  shall  part." 

He  left  the  room  a  little  space, 
But  soon  returned  with  beaming  face ; 
Jennie  was  leaning  on  his  arm  ; 
Not  youth  itself  could  add  a  charm 
To  the  sweet  dignity  of  mien 
Of  one  so  happy  and  serene. 

She  wore  upon  that  festal  day 
A  robe  of  shining  silver  gray ; 
Matthew  in  uniform  arrayed, 
His  martial  bearing  well  displayed, 
And  here  once  more,  hand  joined  in  hand, 
They  so  long  separated  stand. 
107 


To  all  the  guests  it  seemed  to  be 

A  scene  of  great  solemnity, 

But,  at  the  rector's  closing  word 

The  throng  with  strong  emotion  stirred. 

The  soldiers  scarce  suppress  their  cheers, 
And  many  cheeks  are  wet  with  tears 
As  Matthew,  with  a  glow  of  pride, 
Salutes  this  woman,  twice  his  bride. 

The  evening  passed  by  pleasantly 
To  those  who  through  it  chose  to  stay, 
And  as  their  homeward  way  they  wind, 
They  leave  but  happiness  behind. 

There  is  not  much  to  tell  beside, 
Our  Sterling  Gray  and  his  young  bride, 
When  from  their  wedding  tour  they  come, 
Will  occupy  their  stately  home. 

Dear  little  Fred,  Nathaniel's  son, 
Is  loved  and  spoiled  by  every  one. 

But  ere  I  lay  my  pen  away 
I  would  to  Matthew's  virtues  pay 
108 


An  honest  tribute,  though  no  line 
Can  e'er  be  traced  by  pen  of  mine 
Which  will  add  lustre  to  the  fame 
That  erstwhile  crowns  such  victor's  name. 

He  ruled  his  spirit,  crushed  his  pride, 
And  laid  all  selfishness  aside 
Bereft  of  wife,  bereft  of  child, 
The  world  to  him  a  dreary  wild, 
Made  no  display  of  grief  or  wrath, 
In  silence  trod  his  lonely  path. 
But  in  his  heart  amid  its  gloom, 
There  lingered  still  love's  sweet  perfume, 
And  npw,  to  banish  grief  and  pain, 
This  lovely  flower  has  bloomed  again ; 
Long  in  its  shadow  may  he  rest 
While  we  rejoice  to  see  him  blest. 

My  humble  story  now  is  done ; 
I  claim  my  hero  brave  has  won 
A  victory  more  praiseworthy,  far, 
Than  ever  soldier  won  in  war. 
And  in  the  evening  of  his  life 
This  veteran  and  his  gentle  wife 
109 


Look  back  with  thankfulness  and  pride 
As  they  still  journey  side  by  side. 

And  soon  for  them  will  dawn  the  day 
When  earthly  cares  all  laid  away, 
They'll  help  to  swell  the  victor's  song 
Amid  the  bright  celestial  throng. 


THE   END. 


no 


Miscellaneous  Poems  of  the  Civil  War. 


THE  FATE  OF  WAR. 


TENNESSEE  lay  bathed  in  beauty 

'Neath  the  sky  of  sixty-one, 
When  the  gloomy  clouds  of  discord 
Rose  above  our  horizon. 


Four  dark  years  of  civil  conflict 

Our  historic  pages  dim, 
Making  still  a  note  discordant 

In  our  nation's  choral  hymn. 

Still  the  mountains  rise  in  grandeur, 
Onward  flows  the  Tennessee ; — 

Mingling  with  the  voice  of  nature 
Rises  our  grand  jubilee. 

For  peace  reigns  again  triumphant 
Where  once  stood  in  deadly  strife, 

Those  by  birthright  friends  and  brothers 

Seeking  for  each  other's  life. 
8  113 


But  the  war-cloud  left  a  shadow, 
Plainly  still  we  see  its  trace 

On  the  hearts  of  friends  and  kindred, 
Time  itself  cannot  efface. 

'Tis  of  Roswell  Lawrence,  reader, 

I  a  truthful  tale  relate, 
Tell  how  members  of  his  household 

Fell  beneath  the  hand  of  fate. 

In  his  home,  almost  an  Eden, 

Naught  was  known  of  grief  or  care 

Till  the  direful  war  had  changed  it 
To  a  scene  of  dark  despair. 

When  the  war  of  the  Rebellion 
Broke  upon  our  native  land, 

Roswell  Lawrence,  brave  and  loyal, 
Longed  to  join  the  patriot  band. 

But  beyond  his  prime  was  Lawrence, 
Bent  beneath  the  weight  of  years, 

Helplessly  he  viewed  the  struggle 
Shaken  by  his  griefs  and  fears. 
114 


Once  he  well  had  served  his  country 
Bravely  marched  against  the  foe, 

Proudly  born  aloft  our  banner 
On  the  plains  of  Mexico. 

He  was  Northern  born,  his  parents 
Made  the  Empire  State  their  home, 

When  the  army  was  disbanded 
He  to  Tennessee  had  come. 

He  had  since  that  time  resided 
In  this  fair  and  sunny  land, 

Here  he  won  and  wed  his  Mabel, 
Reared  his  little  household  band. 

And  the  gift  of  three  dear  children 
Made  their  happiness  complete, 

Melvin,  Rupert,  little  Lois, 
All  intelligent  and  sweet. 

As  they  grew  each  year  more  lovely 
'Neath  the  tender  mother's  care, 

Roswell  thought  his  home  a  heaven 
Filled  with  blessings  rich  and  rare. 
115 


Little  dreamed  he  that  the  future 
Held  for  him  such  bitter  woe, 

That  his  loving  heart  had  broken 
Half  the  mournful  truth  to  know. 

As  the  brothers  grew  to  manhood, 
Melvin,  with  his  bright  blue  eye, 

Was  the  image  of  his  father 
In  the  happy  days  gone  by. 

Locks  of  brown  with  golden  lustre 
Curled  around  his  shapely  head, 

He  was  tall,  of  noble  bearing, 
With  a  firm,  elastic  tread. 

Rupert  Lawrence,  three  years  younger, 
Was  his  mother's  joy  and  pride, 

He  possessed  a  type  of  beauty 
Which  description  quite  defied. 

Hair  of  raven  blackness  shaded 
Brow  of  marble  whiteness  rare, 

And  his  eyes  of  liquid  brightness 
Mirrored  strength  of  passion  there. 
116 


Slightly  built,  of  medium  stature, 

Of  a  restless  temperament, 
With  a  warm  impulsive  nature, 

Speaking  plainly  his  descent. 

In  the  veins  of  Mabel  Lawrence 

Flowed  the  rich  warnt  Cuban  blood, 

Which  to  Rupert  had  imparted 
An  intensely  changeful  mood. 

Little  Lois,  bright  and  winsome, 
Was  a  creature  sweet  and  fair, 

With  the  Southern  mother's  beauty, 
And  the  father's  sunny  hair. 

Agile  as  the  fawn,  and  graceful, 
Of  a  mild  and  gentle  mien, 

And  the  blending  of  two  nations 
Might  also  in  her  be  seen. 

But  in  spite  of  dispositions, 

Which  in  diverse  channels  ran, 

Theirs  had  been  a  happy  household 
Till  the  dreadful  war  began. 
117 


Now  'mid  tumult  and  excitement, 
Party  spirit,  fierce  and  high, 

Wrought  a  terrible  division 
In  the  Lawrence  family. 

Melvin  took  a  stand  emphatic 

'Neath  the  de*ar  old  stripes  and  stars, 

While  his  brother  joined  the  forces 
'Neath  the  fateful  Southern  bars. 

All  the  loyal  blood  of  Roswell 

Rose  in  indignation  grand 
As  he  saw  the  storm-cloud  gather 

Darkly  o'er  his  native  land, 

And  beheld  the  starry  banner 
For  which  he  would  gladly  die, 

Trampled  by  the  feet  of  rebels 
While  they  freedom's  laws  defy. 

Bitter  was  his  grief  and  anguish, 

When  young  Rupert  drew  his  sword, 

In  the  blighting  cause  of  treason, 
But  he  spoke  no  scathing  word. 
118 


"  'Tis  but  natural,"  he  reasoned, 
"  He  should  choose  to  do  his  part 
In  the  cause  his  mother  favors ; 
Oh,  be  still,  my  breaking  heart ! 

"  May  no  unkind  word  escape  me, 

Lest  the  future  bear  it  back, 
Never  must  a  child  of  Lawrence 
Of  affection  feel  the  lack." 

Not  more  tenderly  his  blessing 

Fell  upon  the  loyal  head 
Of  his  eldest,  who  had  chosen 

Freedom's  righteous  cause  instead, 

Than  upon  the  head  of  Rupert 
Who  as  bravely  dared  to  do 

For  a  cause  he  deemed  as  sacred ; 
Oh,  such  fathers  are  but  few ! 

For  the  sake  of  wife  and  children, 
Roswell  kept  his  lips  close  sealed, 

In  this  noble  self-denial 

Was  his  depth  of  love  revealed. 
119 


While  his  heart  was  almost  bursting 

Into  patriotic  flame, 
He  possessed  his  soul  in  patience, 

Trusting  in  Jehovah's  name. 

While  the  mighty  hosts  contended, 
And  the  conflict  fiercer  grew, 

Roswell  in  his  darkened  homestead 
Prayed  as  only  patriots  do. 

And  the  mother  drooped  and  faded 
'Neath  her  load  of  grief  and  care, 

This  division  in  her  household 
Filled  her  heart  with  wild  despair. 

What  her  husband  named  as  treason, 
She  had  held  as  Southern  right, 

Still  it  grieved  her  that  her  offspring 
Should  in  different  forces  fight ; 

Grieved  that  they  should  be  contending 

On  the  bloody  battlefield, 
She  prayed  earnestly  and  often 

That  one  side  might  quickly  yield. 


1 20 


But  we  need  not  tell  the  reader 
Of  the  struggle  fierce  and  long, — 

We  who  lived  will  ne'er  forget  it, 
Others  find  it  theme  of  song, 

Or  in  history  read  of  thrilling 
Deeds  of  valor,  ne'er  surpassed; 

While  revolves  the  sun  in  brightness 
Shall  their  glorious  record  last 

But  we  need  not  trace  the  annals, 

Only  one  eventful  day 
Is  required  to  furnish  details 

For  the  subject  of  our  lay. 


All  day  long  the  battle  rages 

O'er  the  heights  of  Malvern  Hill, 

And  the  golden  rays  of  sunset 
Fall  on  ground  contested  still, 

And  a  spirit  of  defiance 

Seems  to  fill  the  summer  air 

As  in  grim  unyielding  phalanx 

Darkness  finds  them  fighting  there. 

121 


Now  retreating,  now  advancing ; 

Like  the  ocean's  storm-tossed  waves 
Sweeps  the  restless  tide  of  battle 

And  in  blood  the  hillside  laves. 

Now  the  Federals  cheering,  charging, 
Once  more  make  the  foe  retreat, 

And  a  brave  young  color-bearer 
Waves  his  flag  at  their  defeat. 

Shaking  out  its  folds  in  triumph 
In  a  bold  and  fearless  mood, 

Recking  not  the  wrath  of  foeman 
Or  the  heated  Southern  blood. 

Proudly  floats  that  tattered  emblem 
O'er  the  heights  of  Malvern  Hill 

Telling  to  opposing  forces 
Of  a  brave  resistance  still. 

Closing  up  their  broken  columns, 
Rallying  their  fearless  band, 

The  Confederates  bravely  faced  them 
And  in  waiting  firmly  stand. 

122 


Said  a  young  and  reckless  soldier, 
"  Boys,  behold  that  banner  high 
Flaunting  in  our  very  faces, 

That  proud  bearer  soon  must  die." 

When  the  order  brief  was  given 

Rupert  quickly  raised  his  gun, 
And  another  Union  soldier 

Died  beneath  the  setting  sun. 

Had  he  known  who  held  that  flagstaff, 
Would  his  aim  have  been  so  true  ? 

Who  can  tell  ?  they  were  but  foemen, 
One  in  gray  and  one  in  blue. 

When  the  shades  of  night  closed  round  them, 

And  the  fighting  ceased  at  last, 
Under  cover  of  the  darkness 

Southern  troops  retreated  fast. 

Once  again  were  they  defeated, 

And  must  needs  recruit  their  strength, 

In  a  silent,  cautious  manner 

They  retired  their  troops  at  length. 
123 


Just  at  dusk  two  Union  soldiers, 
Who  had  bravely  fought  that  day, 

Fell  to  earth  from  sheer  exhaustion 
And  became  an  easy  prey ; 

These  were  promptly  seized  as  prisoners, 
Taken  in  that  backward  flight ; 

As  they  marched,  they  were  discoursing 
On  the  fortunes  of  the  fight. 

"  'Twas,"  said  one,  "  a  fearful  battle 

And  we  made  a  noble  stand, 
But  our  color-bearer,  Lawrence, 
Was  the  bravest  of  our  band. 

"  Nothing  seemed  to  daunt  his  spirit, 
Oh,  it  shocked  me  when  he  fell ! 
For  as  dearly  as  a  brother 

I  had  learned  to  love  our  Mel." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other  soldier, 
"  I  have  noticed  many  a  time 
That  the  men  who  bear  our  colors 
Have  a  courage  quite  sublime. 
124 


"  Melvin  loved  the  dear  old  ensign 

And  his  life  was  nobly  spent, 
Could  I  but  have  killed  his  slayer, 
I  would  then  have  been  content." 

Thus  conversed  those  youthful  prisoners, 
Speaking  of  a  comrade's  death, 

While  beneath  night's  friendly  cover 
Listened  one  with  bated  breath  ; 

Still  intent  on  every  detail, 

Till  he  came  to  understand 
That  it  was  his  only  brother 

Who  had  fallen  by  his  hand. 

When  he  caught  the  awful  import 
Of  the  words  those  soldiers  spoke, 

In  one  wailing  cry  of  anguish, 
Then  the  heart  of  Rupert  broke. 

No  one  marked  that  sound  of  sorrow, 
No  one  seemed  to  know  or  care, 

But  the  whispering  summer  breezes 
Bore  a  breath  of  frenzied  prayer. 
125 


Only  God  can  ever  know  it, 

All  that  mingled  love  and  grief! 

Only  He  in  tender  mercy 
Can  administer  relief. 

While  the  cruel  conflict  lasted, 
Rupert  bravely  bore  his  part, 

On  his  face  no  smile  of  gladness, 
Naught  but  sorrow  in  his  heart. 

In  the  home  they  wept  for  Melvin, 
But  the  mother's  bitter  tears 

Had  more  cause  to  fall  for  Rupert 
In  the  darksome  coming  years. 

When  returning  home  in  sadness, 
Rupert  met  his  friends  once  more, 

Much  his  loving  parents  wondered 
At  the  look  of  grief  he  wore. 

Nothing  ever  seemed  to  cheer  him 

Or  his  sadness  to  dispel, 
And  upon  that  broken  household 

Now  a  deeper  shadow  fell. 
126 


When  her  brothers  joined  the  army, 

Lois  was  a  maiden  shy, 
But  she  grew  a  lovely  woman 

As  the  years  went  swiftly  by. 

She  had  now  a  noble  suitor, 

One  of  Burnside's  boys  in  blue, 

Who  was  lingering  in  the  Southland 
To  his  fair  enchantress  woo. 

Paul  Romaine  had  often  met  her 

While  the  troops  were  stationed  there, 

And  his  heart  became  entangled 
In  the  meshes  of  her  hair. 

Never  was  a  captive  taken, 
More  an  abject  slave  than  he, 

And  when  peace  had  been  established 
He  returned  to  Tennessee. 

At  the  North  his  parents  waited 
For  the  coming  of  their  son, 

But  he  wrote  them  he  shoud  tarry 
Till  his  Southern  bride  was  won. 
127 


Never  sped  a  happier  wooing, 
For  the  parents  kindly  smiled 

On  the  young  impetuous  soldier 
Who  adored  their  darling  child. 

Melvin  sleeps  in  solemn  silence, 
Sorrow  Rupert's  life  enshrouds, 

And  they  fain  would  shield  their  daughter 
From  its  overshadowing  clouds. 

Deeming  she  has  chosen  wisely, 

Though  the  tears  will  sometimes  flow, 

They  upon  the  youthful  couple 
Blessings  fervently  bestow. 

Still  one  cloud  is  in  their  heavens, 
Rupert's  strange  despairing  mood, 

He  to  his  young  sister's  husband 
Frequently  is  very  rude. 

But  Romaine  will  never  quarrel 

With  the  brother  of  his  bride, 
Though  his  heart  is  often  throbbing 

With  a  sense  of  injured  pride. 
128 


Soon  they  pay  a  bridal  visit 
To  the  waiting  friends  of  Paul, 

And  they  meet  a  warm  reception 
From  his  people  one  and  all. 

And  Paul's  friends  are  charmed  with  Lois, 

Nor  can  wonder  at  his  praise 
As  they  mark  with  admiration 

All  her  sweet  and  gentle  ways. 

Paul  decides  on  emigrating 

To  the  prairies  of  the  West 
And  secures  a  fine  location 

Where  they  settled  down  to  rest. 

Lois,  too,  this  plan  had  favored, 

For  she  felt  within  her  heart 
That  'twere  better  far  that  Rupert 

And  her  husband  dwell  apart. 

True,  her  thoughts  are  often  turning 
To  her  sunny  Southern  home, 

Still  she  is  content  and  happy 
As  she  pictures  years  to  come. 
129 


When  increasing  wealth  shall  bless  them ; 

At  no  very  distant  day, 
To  the  dear  old  haunts  of  childhood 

She  a  visit  hopes  to  pay. 

But  upon  the  Kansas  homesteads 

Blight  and  ruin  often  fall,  * 

And  for  four  succeeding  seasons 
Great  misfortunes  came  to  Paul. 

Locust,  drought  and  wind  united 
To  lay  waste  his  fertile  fields, 

Till  a  plain  and  bare  subsistence 
Is  the  most  his  labor  yields. 

But  with  undiminished  courage, 
Still  they  bravely  struggle  on, 

Bound  to  yet  become  successful 
As  they  dreamed  in  years  agone. 

Two  sweet  children  came  to  bless  them 
And  to  cheer  their  toilsome  life ; 

Lois  called  her  first-born  Mclvin, 
Paul  named  baby  for  his  wife. 
130 


For  the  sake  of  these  dear  children 

Many  bitter  tears  she  shed, 
For  these  priceless  gifts  of  heaven 

Must,  indeed,  be  clothed  and  fed. 

But  each  year  beheld  them  poorer 
Than  they  were  the  year  before, 

Till  the  hideous  wolf  of  hunger 
Often  stood  beside  their  door. 

Friends,  no  doubt,  believed  them  thriving, 
For  they  kept  their  secret  well, 

Since  of  their  reduced  condition, 
Pride  forbade  that  they  should  tell. 

Meanwhile  to  the  Lawrence  household 

Sad'ning  changes  also  come, 
And  the  mother  of  our  Lois 

Slumbers  in  her  silent  home. 

And  above  her  pulseless  bosom 
Blooms  the  myrtle  and  the  rose ; 

To  her  grave  in  silent  sorrow 
Roswell  Lawrence  often  goes. 


Poor  old  man !  his  heart  is  breaking 
O'er  his  darling  Mabel's  tomb  ! 

And  his  form  will  rest  beside  her 
'Neath  another  summer's  bloom. 

One  calm  Sabbath,  as  the  shadows 
Of  the  evening  overspread 

All  the  quiet  face  of  nature, 
He  called  Rupert  to  his  bed, 

Saying,  "  Come  and  sit  beside  me, 
There  is  much  I  wish  to  say 

Ere  I  take  my  last  lone  journey 
To  that  country  far  away. 

"  And  I  know  I  soon  am  going 

There  to  rest  forevermore, 
For  I  often  catch  the  music 

From  that  happy  golden  shore  ; 

"And  the  voices  of  our  loved  ones 

Bid  my  eager  spirit  come ; 
I  ere  long  shall  pass  the  portals 
Of  the  great  eternal  home. 
132 


"  Listen,  Rupert,  come  still  closer, 

Take  my  feeble  trembling  hand, 
I  would  now  speak  freely,  fully, 
Lay  on  you  my  last  command. 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty, 

If  I've  erred  in  aught  my  son, 
May  our  loving  Lord  forgive  me 
Since  in  blindness  it  was  done ; 

"  Your  sad  spirit  ever  brooding 

O'er,  perhaps,  some  fancied  wrong, 
On  my  life  has  been  a  burden 
I've  borne  patiently  and  long. 

"  But  I  grieve  to  die  and  leave  you 

To  a  dismal  lonely  life, 
From  the  ranks  of  those  who  love  us, 
Make  some  worthy  girl  your  wife. 

"  Be  as  happy  as  your  parents, 

More  I  could  not  ask  for  you, 
Every  heart  must  know  some  sorrow ; 
To  yourself  and  God  be  true. 


"  All  my  wealth  I  have  bequeathed  you, 

Give  your  sister  what  is  right, 
Ascertain  her  needs  and  wishes, 
I  shall  trust  you,  now  good  night." 

Here  the  father  ceased,  and  Rupert 
Said  good  night  and  left  the  room, 

Feeling  like  some  guilty  felon 
Who  has  heard  an  awful  doom. 

Soon  he  sought  his  sleepless  pillow 
Breathing  low  an  anguished  prayer 

That  to  him  the  strength  be  given 
Now  his  heavy  cross  to  bear. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  how  can  I  bear  it ! 

Will  he  own  me  as  a  son  ? 
Will  he  still  believe  and  trust  me 
When  he  knows  what  I  have  done  ? 

"  But  he  soon  must  cross  the  river 
Where  all  secrets  are  revealed 
And,  perhaps,  if  he  forgives  me 

My  poor  heart  may  yet  be  healed." 
i34 


Then  again  he  sought  his  chamber ; 

Kneeling  by  his  father's  bed, 
He  confessed  the  awful  secret, 

That  he  Melvin's  blood  had  shed. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  "  I  did  not  know  him ! 

But  it  might  have  been  the  same, 
For  my  fiery,  wicked  nature 
Was  then  kindled  into  flame. 

"  I  can  never  take  your  money, 

Let  my  sister  have  it  all, 
Only  on  the  head  of  Rupert 
Let  your  hand  in  blessing  fall. 

"  Only  say  that  you  forgive  me 

This  is  all  the  boon  I  ask, 
And  to  seek  from  heaven  forgiveness 
Shall  in  future  be  my  task." 

"  May  God  bless  and  save  you,  Rupert, 

It  was  but  the  fate  of  war ! 

But  I  hear  the  heavenly  music, 

And  I  see  the  gates  ajar !" 


With  his  thin  hand  gently  resting 
On  the  bowed  head  of  his  son, 

Roswell  Lawrence  crossed  the  river, 
And  his  earthly  race  was  run. 


We  will  only  pause  to  mention, 
Ere  we  lay  our  pen  aside, 

That  one  wish  of  Roswell  Lawrence 
Very  soon  was  verified  ; 

Rupert  sought  his  gentle  sister, 
On  the  Kansas  prairie  wild, 

And  installed  her  in  the  homestead 
Where  she  played  a  merry  child. 

Rupert  makes  one  of  her  household, 
He  and  Paul  are  brothers  now, 

But  a  shade  of  melancholy 
Always  rests  upon  his  brow. 

Oft  he  sits  beside  the  river, 

With  his  dark  eyes  fixed  afar, 
And  in  tender  pathos  murmurs 
"  Oh,  the  awful  fate  of  war !" 
136 


MY  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  WAR. 


T  WAS  but  a  little  maiden 

When  the  soldiers  marched  away, 
But  my  childish  heart  was  laden 
With  the  burdens  of  the  day. 

In  our  home  a  great  excitement 

Was  created  at  the  time, 
For  my  father  who  was  feeble 

And  had  passed  beyond  his  prime, 

Strove  to  join  the  gathering  forces  ; 

All  remonstrance  was  in  vain, 
He  forgot  his  health  was  broken, 

He  forgot  his  age  and  pain. 

Love  of  country,  wish  to  serve  her, 

Patriotic  fire  and  zeal 
Filled  his  heart  to  overflowing, 

Made  his  senses  fairly  reel. 
13? 


But  in  spite  of  his  endeavors 

Wise  physicians  sent  him  home, 

And  with  spirits  crushed  and  broken 
I  now  seem  to  see  him  come. 

Through  the  struggle,  long  and  dreadful, 
Watched  he  anxiously  the  strife, 

And  I  think  his  deep  emotions 

May  have  shortened  much  his  life. 

In  our  home  were  many  papers 

Filled  with  patriotic  lore ; 
Father  read  till  he  was  weary, 

Then  I  read  them  o'er  and  o'er. 

Our  place  seemed  to  be  the  centre 

Where  a  band  of  pioneers 
Came  to  hear  the  battle  tidings, 

Flushed  with  hope  or  filled  with  fears. 

There  too,  came  enlisted  soldiers, 
Dear  old  friends  and  neighbor  boys, 

Sure  of  sympathy  and  comfort, 

They  rehearsed  their  griefs  and  joys. 
138 


And  I  drank  in  every  utterance 

Of  the  patriots  who  came, 
Till  my  heart  was  wildly  beating, 

And  my  childish  cheeks  aflame. 

When  the  last  small  band  departed 
Father  on  his  death-bed  lay, 

But  his  eye  was  bright  and  beaming 
As  he  grasped  their  hands  that  day, 

Saying,  "  Heaven  guard  and  keep  you, 
Be  good  boys  and  trust  in  God ; 

When  our  troops  return  triumphant 
I  shall  sleep  beneath  the  sod. 

"  I  had  hoped  to  live  and  greet  them, 

But  I'll  meet  those  gone  before, 
Heroes  who  from  fields  of  carnage 
Passed  beyond  the  open  door." 

This  was  his  farewell  in  substance, 
Four  days  later  he  was  dead ; 

And  his  weeping  wife  and  children 
Hung  in  anguish  o'er  his  bed. 


When  the  news  from  Appomattox, 
The  succeeding  April  came, 

How  we  wept  that  he,  rejoicing, 

Might  not  greet  the  troops  who  came. 

But  God  orders  all  in  wisdom, 

I  can  only  deem  it  well 
That  his  heart  was  spared  the  anguish 

When  our  martyred  Lincoln  fell. 

But  I  have  not  yet  related 
All  I  knew  of  the  dread  war ; 

Friends  had  we  in  fierce  engagements 
Who  returned  with  many  a  scar ; 

Others  left  their  homes  and  kindred 

Never  to  return  again. 
One  dear  cousin  died  in  battle, 

One  within  a  rebel  pen, 

And  another  starved  in  Libby, 
Till  my  heart  with  anger  burned, 

Other  friends  left  limbs  behind  them, 
Where  the  tide  of  battle  turned. 
140 


One  brave  soldier  is  my  husband 
With  a  helpless  withered  arm, 

But  no  mark  of  royal  favor 

Could  for  me  possess  such  charm. 

To  the  sentiments  of  childhood 
I  am  standing  firm  and  true, 

And  my  heart  with  admiration 

Throbs  for  those  who  wore  the  blue. 

Though  my  hair  has  lost  its  lustre, 
And  is  turning  fast  to  snow, 

They  are  still  to  me  the  heroes 
Whom  I  honored  long  ago. 

And  the  hope  that  this  small  volume 
May  find  favor  in  their  sight, 

And  my  efforts  yield  them  pleasure, 
Now  sustains  me  as  I  write. 


141 


ALLAN  WORTH. 

A  Story  in  Two  Parts. 


PART  FIRST. 

August  sun  was  setting  red, 
The  robins  twittered  overhead, 
A  gentle,  cool,  refreshing  breeze 
Was  murmuring  'mid  the  maple  trees ; 
A  bit  of  woodland  left  for  shade, 
A  most  delightful  bower  has  made, 
Where  traveling  artists  sometimes  sit 
Watching  the  shadows  fall  and  flit, 
Or  sketching  these  majestic  trees 
Whose  foliage  flutters  in  the  breeze. 
Here  happy  lovers  often  stray 
To  breathe  their  vows  at  close  of  day, 
A  trysting  place  where  manly  youth 
Has  promised  oft  unchanging  truth. 
143 


Here  in  this  charming  solitude 
A  gentle  girl  this  evening  stood, 
The  lingering  sunbeams  falling  there 
Nestl'd  amid  her  waving  hair, 
And  lighted  up  her  pensive  face 
Where  grief  and  care  had  left  their  trace. 
Her  hands  so  small  and  white  are  clasped 
As  though  some  cherished  hope  they  grasped, 
The  lustrous  eye,  the  mouth,  the  chin 
Bespeak  the  dauntless  soul  within. 

As  thus  she  stands  with  drooping  head 
She  hears  a  long  expected  tread ; 
Starting  at  the  familiar  sound, 
She  rushes  forth  with  eager  bound 
And  reaches  soon  her  lover's  side ; 
"  Oh,  Herman  !  you  are  late,"  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  Alice,  I  am  sorry,  dear, 
That  I  could  not  be  sooner  here, 
But  I  had  business  at  the  town 
And  was  delayed  by  lawyer  Brown ; 

Then  I  ran  down  awhile  to  G 

Some  of  my  old  school  friends  to  see. 
144 


Three  boys  leave  there  to-day  at  noon 
And  will  be  with  McClellan  soon. 
And  I  shall  join  the  army,  too, 
Mother  has  gone  to  Uncle  True  ; 
He's  lame  and  therefore  cannot  go, 
But  he  can  care  for  her,  you  know, 
And  I,  with  perfect  health  and  strength, 
Am  free  to  join  the  ranks  at  length. 

"  But  for  my  mother's  feeble  state, 
I  never  could  have  borne  to  wait, 
As  I  have  done,  from  day  to  day, 
While  companies  have  marched  away." 

Although  her  cheek  is  very  pale, 
Her  clear  voice  does  not  break  or  fail, 
As  making  answer,  hurriedly, 
"  Of  course,  you  cannot  stay,"  said  she, 
"  And  even  though  my  heart  should  break, 
I  honor  still  the  course  you  take. 
Since  Sumter's  sad,  eventful  morn, 
When  our  proud  flag  was  soiled  and  torn, 
Like  Anderson,  the  staunch  and  true, 
I've  longed  to  be  a  soldier,  too ; 

10  145 


And,  were  I  not  a  girl,  to-night 
Would  see  me  dead  or  In  the  fight." 

Her  lover  smiled,  "  this  little  hand 
Was  never  meant  for  deeds  so  grand, 
It  is  too  frail,  too  fair  and  white 
To  wield  a  sabre  in  the  fight. 
Your  noble  father  gave  his  life, 
Your  brother  still  is  in  the  strife, 
Your  part  will  be  at  home  to  stay 
And  write  to  soldiers  far  away ; 
When  I  return  'twill  be  my  pride 
To  see  you  made  a  soldier's  bride. 
As  I  shall  be  away  so  long 
Please  sing  once  more  the  little  song, 
The  song  I  love  the  best  of  all, 
I  often  shall  the  words  recall, 
It  will  my  dreary  camp-life  cheer, 
Will  you  not  sing  it?  Alice  dear." 

"  I'll  try,"  the  brave  young  voice  replied, 
And  the  blue  eyes  were  quickly  dried, 
And  then  in  tones  so  clear  and  sweet 
She  sang  the  song  called,  "  When  we  Meet." 
146 


THE  SONG. 

When  we  meet  adown  the  future 

Will  your  love  be  just  the  same  ? 
Will  your  face  light  up  with  gladness 

At  the  mention  of  my  name  ? 
Will  you  haste  with  joy  to  greet  me, 

All  unchanged  in  love  and  faith  ? 
Is  the  love  you  cherish  for  me 

Strong  enough  to  last  till  death  ? 

I  shall  shrine  your  lovely  image 

Sacredly  within  my  heart, 
And  my  tears  will  fall  above  it 

As  I  roam  from  you  apart; 
Ever  will  your  words  of  courage 

Be  to  me  a  memory  sweet, 
Are  you  sure  you'll  not  forget  them 

And  will  love  me  when  we  meet  ? 

Duty  bids  me,  love,  to  leave  you, 
I  must  heed  her  earnest  call, 

I  go  gladly  to  the  conflict 

There  to  fight,  perhaps  to  fall ; 
147 


But  should  I  return  in  triumph 
Victory  will  be  doubly  sweet, 

Knowing  you  will  bid  me  welcome 
And  will  love  me  when  we  meet. 


The  sweet  love-song  is  done  at  last 
And  now  the  singer's  tears  fall  fast 
"  You  do  not  doubt  me,  Herman  dear, 
I'll  write  your  soldier-life  to  cheer, 
I'll  daily  for  your  safety  pray, 
And  may  God  speed  the  gladsome  day 
When  right  shall  triumph  over  wrong ; 
I  trust  the  time  will  not  be  long." 

A  few  words  spoken  soft  and  low 
And  Herman  Newell  turned  to  go, 
He  takes  a  step  from  her  apart 
Then  turns  and  clasps  her  to  his  heart  ;- 

54  My  little  love,  so  fair  and  sweet, 
May  heaven  keep  you  till  we  meet !" 
He  kisses  her  on  brow  and  cheek 
Too  deeply  moved  to  farther  speak. 
148 


And  thus  they  part  in  mutual  faith 
Which  naught  shall  interrupt  till  death. 

She  sought  her  home  beside  the  wood 
And  Herman  in  the  moonlight  stood 
Watching  until  she  closed  the  gate 
Then  turned  to  battle  with  his  fate  ; 
He'd  grumbled  at  her  stern  decree, 
This  stalwart  youth  of  twenty-three, 
Conscience  acquitted  him  of  blame, 
Still  he  indulged  a  sense  of  shame 
That  one  so  young  and  strong  as  he 
Should  at  such  time  inactive  be. 

His  widowed  mother,  sick  and  old, 
Had  on  this  life  so  slight  a  hold 
That  he  had  feared  in  her  weak  state 
Her  heart  to  grieve  or  agitate, 
But  now,  with  health  somewhat  improved, 
She  to  a  brother's  home  removed 
And  Herman  knew  in  that  abode 
The  tend'rest  care  would  be  bestowed ; 
And  though  the  tears  perforce  would  flow 
Still  she  had  proudly  bade  him  go. 
149 


And  now,  although  his  hands  are  free 

His  heart  is  throbbing  painfully, 

Of  Alice  are  his  thoughts  to-night, 
Her  tearful  face  so  fair  and  white 
Calls  up  some  half-developed  fears 
And  his  own  eyes  are  dimmed  with  tears, 
Which  he  in  vain  strives  to  suppress 
While  thinking  of  her  loneliness. 

An  orphan  is  his  promised  bride, 
Her  father  fell  at  Lyon's  side, 
Her  mother's  name  for  years  has  shone 
Upon  a  white  and  gleaming  stone 
Within  the  little  church-yard  near, 
Though  Alice  holds  her  memory  dear, 
Still  indistinct  the  vision  seems 
Like  angel  faces  seen  in  dreams. 

Of  father  recently  bereft 
One  only  of  her  kin  is  left, 
Her  brother  Tom,  whose  name  appears 
Among  the  earliest  volunteers ; 
The  old  housekeeper,  Mary  Wilde, 
Is  now  sole  guardian  of  the  child. 
150 


"  Brave  girl,"  and  Herman  Newell  sighed, 
"  May  heaven  protect  my  promised  bride." 

He  turned,  and  hast'ning  down  the  road 
He  sought  his  Uncle  True's  abode ; 
He  must  his  mother  bid  good-by, 
And  haste  to  join  his  company, 
Now  at  Detroit,  but  which  would  leave 
Upon  the  following  Friday  eve. 

After  her  lover  went  away 

Poor  Alice  drooped  from  day  to  day, 

Autumn  and  winter  slowly  passed, 

Each  month  seemed  drearier  than  the  last ; 

Kind  friends  and  neighbors  living  near 

Called  oft  her  loneliness  to  cheer, 

But  they,  nor  music,  books,  or  flowers 

Could  serve  to  charm  the  lingering  hours. 

She  often  sought  the  leafless  wood 

While  her  piano  silent  stood ; 

Her  mind  seemed  morbidly  engrossed 
By  the  reports  of  killed  and  lost, 


And  nursed  a  dread  presentiment 
That  some  new  sorrow  would  be  sent. 

In  spring,  one  lonely  April  day, 
She  spoke  in  sad,  despondent  way, 
When  Mary  strove  to  soothe,  she  said, 
"  We'll  know  ere  many  days  are  fled, 
I  can't  say  whence  the  warning  came, 
When  father  fell  'twas  just  the  same, 
I  can't  explain  or  tell  you  more, 
But  know  for  me  there's  grief  in  store." 
It  seemed,  in  part,  was  truth  revealed, 
Tom  died  that  day  on  Shiloh's  field ! 

When  she  received  the  tidings  dread, 
Scarce  whiter  could  have  been  the  dead, 
Though  all  were  conscious  how  she  grieved, 
No  tears  her  burdened  heart  relieved ; 
In  mute  despair  she  sought  the  wood 
Where  she  with  Herman  last  had  stood, 
And  there  beneath  the  forest  trees 
Appeared  more  peaceful  and  at  ease ; 
She  had  from  human  pity  flown 
To  here  commune  with  God  alone. 
152 


The  daylight  faded  into  gloom 
Ere  Alice  reached  her  little  room. 
Poor  child  !  she  sought  no  rest  that  night, 
As  was  disclosed  by  morning  light. 
At  morn  she  no  appearance  made, 
Mary  the  breakfast  hour  delayed, 
Deeming  that  sleep  at  last  had  brought 
Relief  to  her  o'erburdened  thought. 

Fear  of  disturbing  such  repose 
Had  kept  her  silent  since  she  rose  ; 
But  as  the  kitchen  clock  struck  nine 
Came  fears  which  she  could  not  define, 
A  sudden  dread  of  ill,  she  said, 
And  up  to  Alice's  room  she  sped 
And  loudly  knocked  upon  the  door, 
Then  cried  "  Speak,  Alice,  I  implore  ;  " 
As  this  elicits  no  reply 
At  once  decides  the  lock  to  try. 

The  door  swung  back,  no  key  was  turned, 
A  lamp  upon  the  mantle  burned, 
The  pillow  white,  had  not  been  pressed 
And  now  she  noticed,  much  distressed, 
153 


A  little  note  by  Alice  penned 
To  her,  the  kind  and  faithful  friend  ; 
And  this  she  seized,  with  trembling  grasp, 
And  read  aloud  with  startled  gasp. 

"  Dear  Mary,  home  to-night  I  leave, 
O'er  my  departure  do  not  grieve ; 
Nought  of  my  purpose  dare  I  tell ; 
Dear  loving  friend  a  long  farewell." 

Why,  where  or  how  she  went  none  knew 
Nor  could  they  gain  the  slightest  clue, 
Though  neighbors,  an  excited  throng, 
Sought  her  both  earnestly  and  long. 

Now  Herman  heard  from  her  no  more, 
His  mother  wrote  him,  but  forebore 
To  mention  make  of  Alice's  flight 
Lest  she  should  uselessly  affright ; 
Short  time,  howe'er,  could  it  be  hushed 
And  Herman  by  the  news  was  crushed. 

"  It  is  not  marvelous,"  he  said, 
"  Her  father  and  her  brother  dead, 


She  lost  her  mind,  poor  lonely  child ! 
The  death  of  Thomas  drove  her  wild." 
He  in  his  heart  sincerely  thought 
That  he  could  find  her  if  he  sought ; 
But  though  one's  household  dying  lay 
War  was  the  order  of  the  day, 
Stern  duty  pointed  to  the  strife 
And  honor  counted  more  than  life. 

Our  Newell  was  a  patriot  true, 
No  braver  heart  beat  'neath  the  blue, 
Never  would  he  desert  his  post 
While  stood  in  arms  a  rebel  host, 
But  one  sweet  face,  so  sad  and  white, 
Was  in  his  thoughts  both  day  and  night. 


PART  SECOND. 

troops  of  Michigan  were  brave 
And  evidence  of  valor  gave, 
We  point  with  pride  to  deeds  sublime 
Which  mark  the  annals  of  the  time, 
And  some,  of  whom  we  write  to-day, 
Are  numbered  in  that  bold  array. 

Among  the  troops  that  left  the  North 
Was  a  recruit  named  Allan  Worth, 
A  comely  youth  with  beardless  face 
And  form  so  slight  seemed  scarce  in  place 
'Mid  scenes  of  war  and  rude  alarms  ; 
And  yet  he  bravely  bore  his  arms ; 
His  eye  was  keen,  his  aim  was  true, 
As  many  cunning  marksmen  knew ; 
Though  he  at  times  was  somewhat  sad 
He  was  a  genial,  winsome  lad, 
Who,  had  he  lived  in  former  age, 
Would  shone  at  court  as  lady's  page. 


In  camp  of  leisure  time  he  spent 
The  greater  part  within  his  tent ; 
The  ruder  soldiers  jeering  said, 
"  He  had  by  apron-strings  been  led." 
Some  mother's  baby,  who  they  thought, 
Had  left  the  home-nest  ere  he  ought. 
From  oaths  he  would  in  horror  shrink 
And  always  shunned  the  fiery  drink ; 
Still  in  the  ranks  he'd  many  friends 
Who  strove  for  slights  to  make  amends, 
By  lending  him  their  books  to  read 
And  telling  him  to  take  no  heed 
Of  the  rude  things  the  boys  would  say, 
Since  his  was  far  the  better  way. 

Among  the  rougher  class  of  men 
Was  one  the  boys  styled  Burly  Ben, 
A  man  with  brow  as  dark  as  night 
Who  loved  the  timid  to  affright ; 
And  often  he,  by  some  wild  freak, 
Would  terrify  the  young  or  weak. 

One  day  the  drink  was  going  round 
While  Allan,  seated  on  the  ground, 
158 


Was  so  engrossed  by  what  he  read, 
As  not  to  hear  a  word  they  said, 
'Till  Burly  Ben,  with  cup  in  hand, 
Before  the  reader  took  his  stand 
And,  with  a  low  and  mocking  bow 
Said,  "  Boy,  I'll  see  you  drink  this  now." 

Allan,  surprised,  sprang  swiftly  up,. 
And  as  he  did  so,  dashed  the  cup 
Into  the  ruffian's  face  ;  "  Ho,  Ben  !" 
The  shout  went  round  among  the  men, 
"  How  do  you  like  it  thus  ?"  asked  they, 
"  The  boy  is  true  grit,  anyway." 

Ben  had  been  taken  by  surprise, 

The  fiery  liquid  filled  his  eyes, 

He  swore  a  fearful  oath  that  he 

Would  even  with  the  stripling  be. 

Allan,  with  anger  well  suppressed, 

At  once,  withdrew  from  all  the  rest, 

But  he  had  made  a  bitter  foe 

Who  would  contrive  to  work  him  woe ; 

And  ever  after  that  affair 

Ben  harassed  Allan  all  he  dare. 


It  was  a  sweet  September  night 

Before  the  dread  Antietam  fight, 

Two  soldiers  seated  quite  alone 

Conversed  in  low  and  cautious  tone ; 
"  I  come  to  you  now,"  Allan  said, 
"  Not  knowing  what  to  do  instead ; 

Of  Ben  I  have  become  afraid, 

On  some  one  I  must  call  for  aid, 

I  fear  his  dark  malignant  eyes 

Have  penetrated  my  disguise, 

A  secret  until  now  my  own 

I  must  this  night  to  you  make  known." 

Now  Herman  Newell,  for  'twas  he, 
Looked  at  the  speaker  earnestly ; 
From  out  his  face  the  color  fled 
While  wondering  if  the  truth  he  read. 

His  heart  stood  still,  then  beat  so  fast 
That  such  fierce  throbbing  could  not  last, 
And  leaning  toward  the  soldier  youth 
He  said,  "  Pray  tell  me  all  the  truth, 
Where  is  your  home ;  your  place  of  birth  ? 
Is  your  name  truly  Allan  Worth  ?" 
160 


"  It  is  a  name  I've  borne  with  pride, 
But  had  no  right,"  the  youth  replied. 

"  Does  not  your  own  heart  tell  you  now 
Where  we  have  met,  when  last,  and  how  ?" 

Still  Newell  sat  in  silence  grave 
Nor  sign  of  recognition  gave. 
Then  Allan's  voice,  still  low  with  fear, 
Said,  "  This  must  reach  no  other  ear, 
I,  Alice  North,  your  promised  bride 
Have  stood  in  battle  by  your  side 
And  fought  as  fearlessly  as  you, 
Or  any  who  have  worn  the  blue ; 
But  late  I've  learned  that  in  this  place 
Is  hourly  danger  of  disgrace, 
And  so  I  have  a  coward  grown 
Nor  longer  dare  remain  unknown. 

"  And  you,  although  you  may  despise, 
Must  help  me  still  to  some  disguise; 
In  memory  of  the  days  gone  by 
I  am  assured  you  will  comply ; 
Forgive  me  for  the  wrong  and  pain, 
I  will  not  trouble  you  again. 
161 


"  Perhaps  you  wonder  what  wild  dream 
Could  prompt  me  to  such  daring  scheme. 
I  think  that  sorrow  turned  my  brain, 
That  I  was  crazed  by  grief  and  pain, 
I  fear  that  thoughts  of  vengeance  too, 
Had  something  with  the  case  to  do, 
And  that  I  chose  the  course  which  brought 
Me  nearest  the  revenge  I  sought. 

"  I'd  always  Tom's  companion  been 
And  never  deemed  it  shame  or  sin 
To  tramp  with  him  through  field  and  wood 
And  learn  to  shoot  as  Thomas  could, 
And  oft  his  heart  with  pride  would  thrill 
When  witnessing  his  pupil's  skill. 
So  well  accustomed  to  such  sport, 
Firing  and  marching  was  my  forte, 
I'd  training  gained  by  youthful  pranks 
Surpassed  by  few  within  the  ranks. 

"  When  reason  and  reflection  came 
I  feared  that  you  my  course  would  blame, 
Since  I  should  grieve  if  this  were  so, 
I  had  resolved  you  should  not  know; 
162 


But  caution  triumphs  over  pride 

And  now  you  know  the  worst,"  she  cried. 

Herman  had  spoken  not  a  word 
Since  he  the  startling  facts  had  heard, 
His  face  was  pale,  his  lips  compressed, 
'Twas  plain  to  see  he  was  distressed. 

At  length  he  slowly  raised  his  head, 
"  Strange  I  ne'er  guessed  the  truth,"  he  said, 
"  This  trouble  must  be  bravely  met, 
Fear  not,  my  dear,  I  love  you  yet, 
Nor  can  reproach  you  since  I  know 
How  full  has  been  your  cup  of  woe." 

And  then  he  asked,  with  puzzled  air, 
"What  could  so  change  a  person's  hair? 
Yours  once  was  auburn,  very  bright, 
But  now  it  is  as  dark  as  night." 

"  I  wear  a  wig,"  the  culprit  said, 
"  Mine  is  a  closely  shaven  head ; 

The  ruse  was  a  success,  I  see, 

And  quite  concealed  identity." 
163 


Herman  awhile  sat  lost  in  thought, 
The  future  seemed  with  danger  fraught, 
And  then  he  spoke,  "  I'll  not  conceal 
The  great  anxiety  I  feel ; 
Your  confidence  is  not  misplaced 
And  though  we  have  no  time  to  waste, 
We  can  arrange  some  plan,  I'm  sure, 
Your  perfect  safety  to  secure." 

The  next  day  was  the  battle  waged, 
And  the  stern  conflict  fiercely  raged ; 
'Twas  thought,  that  on  that  field  of  strife, 
Young  Allan  Worth  laid  down  his  life. 

Above  that  vast  field,  strewn  with  slain, 
The  air  was  filled  with  shrieks  of  pain ; 
The  wounded  called  in  vain  for  drink, 
Some,  as  their  life-blood  ebbed,  would  sink 
Into  a  state  of  dumb  despair ; 
Some  spend  their  latest  breath  in  prayer. 

There  came  a  tender  nurse  that  day 
Who  wiped  the  blood  from  lips  away 
164 


And  held  a  sparkling,  cooling  cup 
For  those  who  had  the  strength  to  sup ; 
Sighed  where  grim  death  had  done  his  worst 
And  sought  for  those  who  still  could  thirst. 

Thus  all  day  long  she  gave  her  aid 
Till  fell  at  last  the  evening  shade 
Upon  Antietam's  fateful  vale ; 
And  stars  looked  down  so  cold  and  pale, 
It  seemed  their  glory  bright  had  waned, 
Dimmed  by  the  record  heroes  gained. 
But  the  brave  nurse  of  whom  we  write 
Was  seen  no  more  from  that  dread  night ; 
Whither  she  went  there's  none  could  tell, 
Or  they  could  guard  a  secret  well. 

Kentucky  holds  a  home  to-day 
Where  merry  lads  and  lasses  play ; 
A  sweet,  love-sheltered,  little  nest 
Where  nothing  rude  comes  to  molest. 
Here,  Herman  Newell  and  his  wife 
Now  lead  a  peaceful,  happy  life, 
And  at  their  fireside  long  has  smiled 
The  dear  old  face  of  Mary  Wilde. 
165 


Here  they  their  wedded  life  began, 
They  never  visit  Michigan. 
The  mother's  sands  of  life  were  run 
Before  the  cruel  war  was  done, 
And  Herman  has  no  ties  to  call 
Him  from  the  spot  which  holds  his  all ; 
Nor  does  he  choose  to  take  his  wife 
Where  fell  the  shadows  on  her  life. 

Of  that  green  wood  they  sometimes  tell, 
Where  they  one  evening  said  farewell ; 
And  Alice  says  the  summer  breeze 
Finds  nowhere  else  such  grand  old  trees. 

The  song,  which  Herman  loved  when  young 
Is  still  by  Alice  sweetly  sung ; 
And  sometimes  when  the  prayers  are  said, 
The  little  ones  asleep  in  bed, 
They  speak  in  voices,  soft  and  low, 
Their  memories  of  the  long  ago ; 
Speak  of  their  dreary  life  in  camp, 
Of  fields  of  carnage,  once  so  damp 
With  blood  of  noble  heroes,  slain 
To  free  our  land  from  treason's  stain. 
166 


They  sometimes  of  Antietam  speak, 
But  ever  with  a  flushing  cheek, 
Still  dreaming  they  alone  on  earth 
Could  tell  how  vanished  Allan  Worth. 


THE  END. 


167 


THE  SOLDIER'S  LETTER. 


FvEAR  Father  and  Mother:  —  I  write  you  to-day 

From  Strawberry  Plains,  where  in  waiting  we  lay 
For  orders  from  those  who  are  high  in  command, 
We  move  in  the  work  as  our  leaders  have  planned  ; 
This  is  all  that  remains  for  a  private  to  do. 
Sometimes  in  these  days  I  am  fearfully  blue, 
And  wish  every  duty,  between  us  and  peace, 
Might  soon  be  performed  and  hostilities  cease. 

I  am  tired  of  this  life,  and  so  long  for  my  home, 
Not  far  from  its  portals  again  would  I  roam. 
A  soldier's  life  now  looks  less  tempting  to  me, 
Camped  out  on  the  plains  here  in  old  Tennessee, 
Than  it  did  when  at  home  I  beheld  it  afar 
And  dreamed  of  the  glory  pertaining  to  war. 
I  was  then  a  wild  lad  and  troublesome  too, 
But  if  I  am  spared  to  return  home  to  you, 

169 


I  think  you  will  find  that  some  lessons  I've  learned ; 
In  the  book  of  my  life  a  new  leaf  will  be  turned. 
I  would  rather  be  ploughing  the  fallow  again, 
Or  dragging  it  slowly  with  Brindle  and  Ben, 
Than  standing  a  picket  out  here  on  the  plain, 
On  a  dark,  murky  night  in  a  drizzling  rain. 

i* 

I  often  have  grumbl'd  at  Michigan  weather, 

But  all  of  the  Michigan  winters  together 

Could  never  so  chill  one,  it  now  seems  to  me, 

As  the  cold  winds  that  strike  us  in  East  Tennessee. 

'Tis  a  beautiful  country,  I  freely  admit, 

I've  a  view  of  the  plains  from  the  place  where  I  sil, 

And  the  old  Alleghanies  look  lovingly  down 

On  our  white  gleaming  tents,  a  miniature  town, 

And  were  he  not  homesick,  the  scenery  would  be 

A  constant  delight  to  a  fellow  like  me. 

And  now,  Mother  dear,  I  must  tell  you  one  thing 
Which  sorrow  I  know  to  poor  Gertie  will  bring ; 
She  asked  about  Ernest  McCulloch,  you  see, 
The  very  last  time  she  was  writing  to  me ; 
His  letters  for  sometime  were  frigid,  she  thought, 
But  no  explanation  has  she  ever  sought, 

170 


And  now  they  have  ceased,  and  she  wishes  to  know 
What  I  think  the  cause  of  his  treating  her  so ; 
And  I,  like  the  coward  I  am,  do  not  dare 
To  tell  her  that  he  is  as  fickle  as  air, 
And  so  I  take  refuge  in  silence,  you  see, 
And  leave  you  to  manage  the  matter  for  me. 

There's  a  girl  living  near,  who  is  youthful  and  sweet, 

Whose  conquest  of  Ernest  I  think  is  complete, 

She  is  winsome  and  lovely  as  maiden  can  be, 

And  deems  her  admirer  as  guileless  as  she. 

Her  father  was  rich  when  the  trouble  began, 

But  now  is  reduced  to  a  pauper,  poor  man  ! 

I  think  Ernest  pitied  the  daughter  at  first, — 

But  now  finds  he  loves  her — I've  told  you  the  worst. 

The  blue  eyes  of  Gertie  seem  looking  me  through, 
While  her  white  lips  are  asking  if  this  can  be  true  ; 
It  is  true !  and  if  Ernest  McCulloch  had  died 
In  battle,  her  grief  would  have  mingled  with  pride. 
His  name  stood  enrolled  on  that  record  of  light, 
With  heroes  who  fell  in  defence  of  the  right ; 
But  he's  acted  the  coward ;  I'm  thinking  to-day 
We  sometimes  make  idols  of  very  poor  clay. 

171 


But,  wise  little  mother,  your  counsel  bestow, 
And  all  will  be  well  with  dear  sister,  I  know  ; 
Still  I  often  wonder  just  what  I  should  do, 
Were  some  other  fellow  to  rob  me  of  Sue. 

Tell  lone  Widow  Simpson  that  Ted  is  all  right ; 
The  lad  was  most  terribly  frightened  last  night ; 
Ted's  a  number  one  drummer  and  good,  as  boys  go, 
But  famous  for  getting  in  mischief,  you  know ; 
He  went  out  last  evening  some  chickens  to  catch, 
On  returning  discovered  a  nice  melon-patch  ; 
He  hung  up  his  plunder  and  sat  down  to  eat 
When  some  of  the  other  boys  reached  his  retreat, 
These  comrades  had  silently  followed  his  track, 
They  now  took  the  chickens  both  out  of  the  sack, 
In  the  place  of  his  booty  they  put  a  great  stone, 
Then  hiding,  one  boy  gave  an  agonized  moan ; 
The  moan  was  succeeded  by  groans,  loud  and  deep, 
And  chills  up  his  spine  were  beginning  to  creep, 
He  suspected  that  some  one  was  playing  a  game 
But  thought  that  he  better  be  going,  the  same, 
He   endeavored   to   take   down   the   sack    with    its 

freight 

And  was  greatly  alarmed  when  he  noticed  its  weight 

172 


When  a  voice,  deep  and  dreadful,  said,  "  heavy  is  sin ! 
Terrence  Simpson,  its  wages  are  hidden  within, 
Now  be  not  deluded,  your  deeds  are  all  known." 
Teddy  fainted  with  fright  and  fell  'neath  the  stone. 
The  boys  soon  revived  him  and  brought  him  to  camp, 
As  I  write  he  sits  near  me,  we  all  love  the  scamp ; 
He  is  still  somewhat  pale,  the  effect  of  his  fright, 
But  just  tell  his  mother  that  Ted  is  all  right. 

This  letter  is  long,  but  I've  nothing  to  do, 

And  so  I  am  talking  on  paper  to  you. 

It  is  rumored  of  late  that  we  soon  are  to  leave, 

So  mother,  please  write  me,  that  I  may  receive 

A  letter  from  home,  without  any  delay, 

Before  the  time  comes  for  my  marching  away. 

Your  letters  are  treasures  I  know  how  to  prize, 

But  I  long  for  a  glance  from  your  love-lighted  eyes ; 

To  tell  the  truth,  mother,  I'm  pining  for  you, 

And  the  sight  of  dear  father,  and  Gertrude  and  Sue. 

The  cause  of  my  country  is  dear  to  my  heart, 
Don't  think  I  am  weary  of  taking  her  part ; 
I  do  not  regret  that  I  came  to  her  aid, 
And  think  her  deserving  the  sacrifice  made. 

i73 


I  only  would  say  that  the  home  of  my  youth 

I  see  in  the  strong  light  of  reason  and  truth, 

That  I've  learned  the  worth  of  the  friends  I  possess, 

In  boyhood  was  thoughtless  and  valued  them  less. 

And  now,  my  dear  parents,  a  loving  adieu 

Your  boy  in  the  army,  your  poor,  homesick  Lew. 


THAT  BUCKET  OF  MARMALADE. 


VI  7"E  chaps  who  went  to  face  the  foe, 

Faced  many  other  things,  you  know, 
In  fact  we  have  to  do  so  yet, 
For  veterans  can  ne'er  forget 
Any  good  drive  they  ever  had 
On  a  misguided  soldier  lad. 

They  sometimes  got  a  j  oke  on  me, 
They  did  in  eighteen  sixty-three  ; 
And  every  time  we  meet  they'll  say 
"  How  are  you,  Ike  ?    Feel  well  to-day  ? 
And  is  your  appetite  as  good 
As  when  we  camped  in  Temple's  wood, 
And  you  such  heavy  onslaught  made 
On  that  bucket  of  marmalade  ?" 

I  now  laugh  at  the  joke,  you  see, 
But  couldn't  much  in  sixty-three. 


You  never  heard  that  story  told  ? 

Well,  it  is  good  if  it  is  old, 

And  if  you're  not  in  haste  to  go, 

I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Joe. 

We'll  sit  down  here  beneath  this  oak 

And  while  I  spin  the  yarn  we'll  smoke. 

Orders  were  very  strict,  you  see, 
As  strict  as  orders  well  could  be, 
"There  should  no  foraging  be  done," 
But  nonsense  !  Joe,  it  went  right  on. 
Of  course,  we  chaps  walked  pretty  light 
Whene'er  we  made  a  raid  at  night ; 
Had  they  known  half  we  were  about 
They  would  have  punished  us,  no  doubt. 

One  night  Bill  Jones  and  Tom  McCree 
And  Leonard  White  they  said  to  me, 
"  Now  Ike,  look  here,  you  just  sleep  light, 
We  have  a  job  on  hand  to-night, 
We'll  have  a  feast  and  no  mistake 
If  we  no  horrid  blunder  make." 
So  when  the  camp  at  last  was  still 
From  out  our  bunks  crept  me  and  Bill 
176 


And  stole  along  without  delay 
Where  Len  and  Tommy  waiting  lay, 
And  then  we  all  set  bravely  off, 
Not  daring  though  to  sneeze  or  cough. 
We  chose,  of  course,  a  moonless  night, 
But  stars  were  out  and  by  their  light 
We  took  our  silent  cautious  way 
To  where  an  old  plantation  lay. 

The  Southern  people,  it  would  seem, 
Build  near  some  little  running  stream 
Which  they  from  shore  to  shore  will  span 
By  milk-house  on  a  spacious  plan, 
Besides  the  milk,  too,  other  stores 
Were  safely  kept  within  its  doors, 
Or  had  been  safely  kept,  I  mean, 
Until  by  hungry  soldiers  seen, 
Who,  tired  of  hard-tack,  longed  instead 
For  a  good  dish  of  milk  and  bread. 

It  was  the  forager's  delight 
To  force  those  doors  at  dead  of  night, 
And  from  the  spoils  of  such  a  raid 
Full  many  a  tempting  meal  was  made. 

12  177 


To  Yankees  those  estates  look  queer, 
We  make  so  much  of  roads  up  here, 
While  there  the  place  of  their  abode 
Is  often  far  from  public  road. 
Now  we  would  think  it  very  strange 
To  see  a  farmer  here  arrange 
To  build  a  stately  residence 
Nearly  a  mile  from  road  line  fence ; 
But  at  the  South  'tis  often  done, 
And  this  farmhouse  was  such  a  one. 

It  loomed  up  dark  and  threat'ningly 
Beneath  the  starlit  summer  sky ; 
But  we  boys  did  not  feel  afraid, 
We  kept  beneath  the  friendly  shade 
Of  tree  and  shrub,  and  gazed  around. 
Sure  we  a  fruitful  field  had  found 
For  depredations  which  would  give 
Us  something  good  on  which  to  live. 

At  length,  Len  said,  "  Let's  get  to  work, 
Now  Billy  don't  you  try  to  shirk, 
You  come  with  me,  and  Ike,  I  say, 
That  you  and  Tom  must  find  a  way 
178 


To  get  into  the  milk-house  near, 
But  listen  sharp  and  if  you  hear 
A  noise  you  think  may  bode  you  ill 
Just  imitate  the  whip-poor-will, 
And  we  will  come  to  your  relief; 
But  we  must  make  our  visit  brief; 
The  smoke-house  is  not  far  away, 
We'll  visit  that  and  make  it  pay." 

We  were  as  cautious  as  could  be, 

Making  a  circuit  noiselessly, 

And  very  soon  the  milk-house  found; 

But  here  our  hopes  fell  to  the  ground, 

The  strong  door  stood  with  lock  and  chain, 

And  all  our  efforts  were  in  vain ; 

We  pushed  and  pulled  with  all  our  might 

Until  we  noticed,  with  delight, 

That  deeply  sat  within  the  wall 

There  was  a  window  square  and  small. 

'Twas  open  to  admit  the  air, 
And  I  said,  "  Tommy  if  you  dare, 
I'm  much  the  taller,  as  you  know, 
Just  mount  my  shoulders,  in  you  go !" 
179 


"  No,  thank  you,  comrade,"  Tomm 
"  I'd  rather  you  would  go  instead." 


comrade,"  Tommy  said, 


Without  more  words,  I  clambered  in, 

The  place  was  just  as  dark  as  sin, 

I'd  struck  a  match  to  make  a  light 

When  I  was  seized  with  sudden  fright, 

A  savage  dog  came  down  the  hill, 

The  signal  of  the  whip-poor-will 

Never  occurred  to  us  at  all ; 

I  cowered  against  the  cold  stone  wall, 

While  Tom,  poor  Tom !  danced  round  and  round 

In  mortal  terror  of  the  hound  ; 

Then  yelling  like  a  painted  brave 

Thus  to  the  others  warning  gave. 

They'd  just  secured  a  ham  and  fowl 
When  startl'd  by  the  double  howl. 
Now  rushing  down  came  Bill  and  Len, 
Only  to  rush  away  again, 
And  after  them,  in  fierce  pursuit 
Was  following  the  angry  brute. 
I  feared  he'd  soon  on  soldiers  fea:;t, 
When,  all  at  once,  the  tumult  ceased ; — ' 
180 


I  don't  know  what  they  did,  but  Len 
Said  Tray  would  never  howl  again. 

Meanwhile  Tom,  rilled  with  fear  and  dread, 
With  speed  had  toward  the  quarters  fled. 
When  all  were  gone  I  struck  a  light, 
And  there  beheld  a  pleasing  sight ; 
It  seemed  that  storehouse  was  replete 
With  everything  that's  good  to  eat. 
I  gazed  around  as  in  a  dream, 
Then  feasted  upon  cake  and  cream. 
Then  looking  round  in  eager  quest 
For  something  that  would  be  the  best 
To  give  the  boys  a  royal  treat, 
(We  had  a  famous  tooth  for  sweet), 
I  saw  with  other  fruits  displayed 
A  bucket  full  of  marmalade. 

Soon  to  this  wondrous  prize  of  mine 
I  had  attached  my  fishing  line, 
Grasping  the  bucket  with  a  will, 
I  reached  again  the  window  sill, 
I  then  let  down  the  precious  freight 
And,  daring  not  to  hesitate 
181 


Dropped  swiftly  to  the  ground  below. 
How  far  I  fell  I  do  not  know ; 
I  could  not  swear  to  it,  'tis  true, 
But  think  of  windows  there  were  two, 
For  no  such  distance  could  have  been 
Beneath  the  one  where  I  went  in. 

I  got  one  of  those  sudden  jars 
Which  makes  a  fellow  see  new  stars, 
And  my  poor  head  seemed  whirling  round 
With  a  queer  sort  of  buzzing  sound. 

4 

But  when  that  queer  sensation  passed 
And  I  could  stand  alone  at  last, 
I  thought  it  time  for  my  retreat 
And  sought  the  camp  with  flying  feet. 

'Twas  great  relief  to  reach  my  tent, 
In,  like  a  sneaking  thief  I  went  ; 
There,  curled  up  in  a  little  heap 
I  found  my  bunkmate  fast  asleep. 

I  hid  my  prize  and  went  to  bed 
With  weary  limbs  and  aching  head ; 
182 


Though  it  was  something  new  to  me, 
We'd  had,  no  doubt,  a  glorious  spree, 
And  with  the  morning  bugle  call 
Came  recollections  of  it  all. 

Bill,  notwithstanding  all  his  fright 
Brought  in  a  lusty  ham  that  night, 
And  now  was  boasting  over  Len 
Who  fought  the  cur  and  lost  the  hen. 

"  Ike,  what  have  you,"  a  comrade  cried, 
"  Tis  something  jolly,"  I  replied. 
Breakfast  was  soon  prepared,  and  I 

Resolved  at  once  my  sauce  to  try, 

As  I  my  steaming  coffee  sipped 
And  in  the  pail  of  hardtack  dipped, 
I  took  a  tempting  mouthful  up, 
But  soon  I  dropped  my  coffee  cup, 
Sprang  to  my  feet  and  dashed  away, 
And  cleansed  my  mouth  without  delay. 

The  biting  substance  closely  clung 
To  bleeding  lips  and  smarting  tongue, 
183 


The  glorious  prize !  my  pride  and  hope  ! ! 
Was  but  a  pail  of  new  soft  soap. 

Much  as  I  dreaded  gibes  and  jeers 
I  shed  some  drops  of  scalding  tears, 
While  cruel  comrades  rolled  around, 
Convulsed  with  laughter,  on  the  ground. 

The  way  the  boys  all  laughed  and  joked 
Would  wiser  lads  than  I  provoked. 
But  little  did  my  wrath  avail 
They  stirred  the  contents  of  the  pail. 

One  lifted  some  upon  a  stick 
Remarking  it  was  nice  and  thick, 
And  like  my  mother  used  to  make 
And  that  'twas  eaten  for  her  sake. 
"  Oh  it  brings  back  the  days  gone  by  !" 
Said  Leonard,  "  and  it  makes  him  cry." 

The  joke  the  boys  all  thought  so  good 
Flew  through  the  camp,  I  knew  it  would, 
And  still  it  seems  they  would  explode 
When  they  recall  the  episode. 
184 


I  then  was  very  young  and  green, 
An  awkward  lad  about  eighteen ; 
And  that  performance  cured  me  quite 
I  never  foraged  from  that  night  ; 
That  was  my  final  escapade — 
The  tussle  with  the  marmalade. 


185 


WILLIE  LEE. 


'T'HE  soft,  golden  October  sunlight 

Threw  over  the  hillsides  asheen ; 
It  bathed  all  the  summits  with  beauty, 
Just  kissing  the  valleys  between. 

The  trees  in  the  orchards  were  bending 

'Neath  the  weight  of  the  fruitage  they  bore, 

'And  the  air,  sweetly  laden  with  fragrance, 
Came  in  through  the  old  farmhouse  door. 

Like  a  beautiful,  bright  revelation 

Came  this  phase  of  the  autumn  to  me, 

To  the  Michigan  forests  accustomed 

And  the  breath  of  the  restless  pine  tree. 

On  the  banks  of  the  sweeping  Muskegon 
I  wandered  and  played  as  a  child, 

Ere  the  sharp,  ruthless  axe  of  the  woodman 
Had  ruined  our  beautiful  wild. 
187 


The  forests  were  fast  disappearing 

And  farms  springing  up  in  their  stead, 

The  wolf  held  aloof  from  the  clearing, 
The  deer  to  the  northward  had  fled. 

Our  humble  and  primitive  dwellings 

Possessed  little  pleasing  to  view, 
And  the  beautiful  homes  of  New  England 

To  me  were  as  charming  as  new. 

A  guest  to  my  dear  father's  sister 

I  came  for  a  season  to  stay, 
And  enjoyed  with  the  keenest  of  relish 

New  beauties  discovered  each  day. 

Instead  of  a  deep  rolling  river, 

On  whose  banks,  like  a  silvery  thread, 

Stretched  the  trail  of  the  fleet-footed  red  man, 
Where  only  the  daring  might  tread. 

I  found  rugged  hills,  crowned  with  verdure, 
With  vales  nestl'd  softly  between, 

Where  bright,  purling  streams,  clear  as  crystal, 
Dashed  on  to  the  meadows  so  green. 
188 


My  aunt  was  a  sweet,  comely  woman, 
Whose  smile  went  direct  to  the  heart ; 

Her  home  was  a  haven  of  comfort 
Bespeaking  the  housewifely  art. 

My  uncle,  how  shall  I  describe  him  ? 

Not  handsome,  indeed,  yet  not  plain ; 
Not  tall,  but  of  medium  stature, 

And  a  face  which  would  confidence  gain. 

His  brown  eyes  were  earnest  and  tender ; 

In  their  depths,  like  a  magical  charm, 
Lay  the  light  of  a  calm  resignation, 

Uncle  William  had  only  one  arm. 

He  lost  one,  aunt  told  me,  in  battle, 
"  Before  you  were  married  ?"  asked  I. 
"  Yes,  Nellie,"  she  gently  made  answer, 
"  I'll  tell  you  the  story  by  and  by." 

How  fleeting  that  beautiful  autumn  ! 

It  passed  like  a  short  blissful  dream; 
And  soon  the  cold  breath  of  the  winter 

Would  fetter  each  murmuring  stream. 


Though  my  holiday,  spent  in  New  Hampshire, 

Will  long  a  sweet  memory  be, 
Still  the  forest-decked  Michigan  landscapes 

Were  home-like  and  lovely  to  me. 

From  my  home,  near  the  town  of  Newaygo, 

I  had  never  been  absent  before  ; 
My  parents  were  growing  impatient 

And  wishing  my  visit  were  o'er. 

So  heeding  the  summons,  just  hinted, 
I  soon  for  the  West  would  depart, 

Recalling  the  promise  aunt  made  me, 
Which  I  had  laid  up  in  my  heart. 

I  came  to  her  side  in  the  evening 
And  said,  "  My  departure  is  near, 

I  hope  you  will  tell  me,  Aunt  Ellen, 
The  story  you  said  I  should  hear." 

I  drew  to  her  feet  a  low  hassock 
And  rested  my  head  on  her  knee, 

While  she,  in  a  voice  low  and  tender 
Rehearsed  her  love-story  to  me. 
190     , 


'Twas  a  beautiful  tale  of  devotion 
To  one  who  was  wearing  the  blue  ; 

And  I,  in  my  plain,  humble  fashion, 
Will  tell  it  in  substance  to  you. 

My  parents  were  natives  of  Linwood, 
Have  never  lived  elsewhere  than  here ; 

Will's  parents  were  much  valued  neighbors, 
Whose  residence  stood  very  near. 

We  grew  up  together  from  childhood, 
Our  farms  were  adjoining,  you  see, 

The  Lees  had  no  child  except  Willie, 

At  your  Grandfather  Linton's  were  three. 

Their  names,  Edward,  Maurice  and  Ellen, 

A  right  merry  trio  were  we, 
Who  always  were  sure  of  a  welcome 

In  the  home  of  our  kind  neighbor  Lee. 

Like  brothers  were  Maurice  and  Willie, 

Both  jolly,  and  near  of  an  age, 
While  Edward  was  four  years  their  senior 

And  somewhat  more  sober  and  sage. 
191 


But  I,  only  two  years  their  junior, 
In  all  of  their  frolics  took  part ; 

I  think  now  that  even  in  childhood 
I  had  given  to  Willie  my  heart. 

Together  we  strolled  through  the  wildwood 
In  quest  of  early  spring  flowers, 

Or  angled  for  fish  in  the  trout  stream, 
Beguiling  the  long  summer  hours. 

We  went  to  the  same  little  school-house, 
From  the  same  books  studied  and  read, 

And  oft  in  the  cold  days  of  winter, 
Will  drew  me  to  school  on  his  sled. 

The  bright,  sunny  days  of  our  childhood 
Flew  by  on  the  pinions  of  time, 

We  marked  not  their  musical  numbers, 
We  only  rejoiced  in  their  chime. 

But  all  lads  and  lasses  grow  taller 

As  year  after  year  flies  away, 
And  we  from  our  sweet,  idle  dreaming 

Were  rudely  awakened  one  day. 
192 


It  happened  one  morning  in  April 
That  father  called  Maurice  aside 

And  after  a  brief  consultation, 

Some  question  had  seemed  to  decide. 

That  summer  my  walk  to  the  school-house 

Was  usually  taken  alone, 
For  Maurice  helped  Ed  with  the  farming ; 

Will  Lee  to  a  distance  had  gone, 

That  he  might  have  advantages  greater 
Than  our  country  schools  could  afford ; 

We  eagerly  looked  for  his  letters, 

Remembered  and  cherished  each  word. 

And  when  he  returned  at  vacation, 
We  hailed  his  appearance  with  joy, 

He  came  back  unchanged  by  his  absence 
And  still  was  the  same  merry  boy. 

Some  years  must  be  given  to  study, 
And  then,  'twas  his  parents'  desire 

That  he  should  return  to  the  homestead 
And  follow  the  plow,  like  his  sire. 
13  193 


Before  he  departed  that  autumn 
I  wore  just  a  tiny  gold  band, 

'Tis  a  trifling  token  of  friendrhip, 
Said  Will,  "  Nellie  you  understand 

"  That  to  me  you  are  like  a  dear  sister, 

You  know  I  have  none  of  my  own  ;  " 
He  kissed  me  in  brotherly  fashion 
As  he  used  to  before  we  were  grown. 

He  sprang  lightly  over  the  paling 
And  whistled  a  tune  as  he  went ; 

I  watched  till  he  passed  from  my  vision, 
Then  turned  with  a  smile  of  content. 

Will  thinks  of  me  now  as  a  sister, 
Such  friendship  will  never  subside ; 

He'll  love  me  far  more  in  the  future 
And  some  day  will  make  me  his  bride. 

And  the  frail,  little  golden  circlet, 
Which  meant  very  little  to  Will, 

Was  to  my  girlish  fancy  the  emblem 
Of  a  love  that  is  living  still. 
194 


It  was  near  the  close  of  the  autumn, 
A  New  England  Thanksgiving  day, 

We  welcomed  to  Linwood  a  stranger, 
The  niece  of  our  good  Dr.  May. 

The  daughter  of  his  only  brother, 
The  last  of  his  race  and  his  name ; 

She  came  to  reside  with  her  uncle 
And  we  were  rejoiced  that  she  came. 

This  Lillian  May  was  a  beauty, 
With  features  of  loveliness  rare, 

And  eyes  blue  as  pansies,  just  matching 
The  rich  golden  brown  of  her  hair. 

In  form  she  was  slender  and  graceful, 
Her  manner  was  pleasing  and  mild, 

Her  face  was  as  sweet  and  as  tender 
As  that  of  an  innocent  child. 

She  won  all  our  hearts  as  by  magic, 
We  willingly  bowed  at  her  shrine ; 

Beholding  the  beautiful  casket 
We  counted  the  contents  divine. 


She  joined  in  our  rustic  diversions, 
Like  corn-husking  bees  in  the  barn, 

Or  sat  by  the  hour  paring  apples, 
Or  winding  some  long  skein  of  yarn. 

Do  you  wonder  that  long  ere  the  winter 
Was  gone,  with  its  frolic  and  fun, 

That  Edward  consigned  to  her  keeping 
The  heart  she  completely  had  won  ? 

The  winter  passed  by  with  its  coasting, 
Its  skating,  and  merry  sleigh-rides, 

And  Spring,  with  her  emerald  mantle, 
Was  clothing  the  sloping  hillsides. 

When  Willie,  from  college  returning, 

Came  over,  at  once,  as  of  old  ; 
We  plied  him  with  numerous  questions 

And  many  an  incident  told. 

I  now  had  become  a  young  lady 
And  so  must  not  ramble  at  will, 

I  longed  for  my  haunts  in  the  wildwood, 
And  the  dashing  trout-stream  by  the  mill. 
196 


Instead  there  were  picnics  and  parties, 
Which  did  very  well  in  their  way ; 

The  centre  of  all  admiration 
Was  sweet,  artless  Lillian  May. 

Her  obedient  escort  was  Edward, 
And  dearly  he  loved  her,  I  knew, 

Content  in  his  love,  their  betrothal 
Was  only  made  known  to  a  few. 

Lillie  pleaded  her  youth  as  a  reason 

That  they  should  delay  for  a  while 
To  have  their  engagement  made  public ; 
"  You  can  trust  me,"  said  she,  with  a  smile. 

And  he,  with  a  lover's  devotion, 

Had  readily  granted  her  plea, 
Only  asking  to  speak  on  the  subject 

To  her  uncle,  our  parents  and  me. 

And  thus  was  the  matter  still  resting 
When  Willie  returned  to  the  farm ; 

He  met  her  quite  often,  like  others 
He  soon  was  subdued  by  her  charm. 
197 


As  time  passed  his  interest  deepened, 
He  spent  many  hours  at  her  side, 

Nor  dreamed  as  she  smiled,  that  another 
Could  claim  her  as  his  promised  bride. 

My  brother  was  proud  and  in  anger 

Turned  silently,  coldly  away, 
Renouncing  his  friendship  for  Willie 

And  passion  for  Lillian  May. 

There  now  was  dislike  and  aversion 
Where  friendship  had  hitherto  been  ; 

Thus  often  the  innocent  suffer 

While  those  appear  blameless  who  sin. 

Though  I  had  my  own  secret  sorrow, 
As  you  have  discovered,  my  dear, 

I  grieved  that  these  ties  should  be  severed 
With  grief  that  was  truly  sincere. 


Just  now  through  the  breadth  of  our  country 
There  sounded  the  dreadful  alarm 

Of  bold  and  high-handed  rebellion, 
Which  called  for  each  patriot  arm. 


What  noted  we  then  of  our  troubles  ? 

We  laid  disagreements  aside, 
As  fathers  and  brothers  and  cousins 

Were  swelling  the  outgoing  tide. 

At  once  in  our  home  there  was  arming 

For  part  in  the  terrible  fray, 
Both  Edward  and  Maurice  enlisted 

And  soon  would  be  marching  away. 

Will  Lee  called  upon  us  but  seldom 
Since  Edward  was  distant  and  cold, 

But  now  in  this  time  of  excitement 
He  dropped  in  again  as  of  old. 

One  eve  as  the  glory  of  sunset 

Was  gliding  the  west  with  its  flame, 

Will  came  and  leaned  in  on  the  casement 
And  calling  me  softly  by  name, 

Said,  "  Nellie,  come  out  in  the  garden, 
I've  something  important  to  say, 

I've  enlisted  and  soon  shall  be  leaving, 
And  there  is  no  time  for  delay." 
199 


My  heart  with  emotion  was  swelling 
As  Willie,  with  face  all  aglow, 

Gave  into  my  care  and  my  keeping 
His  sweetheart,  my  rival,  you  know. 

His  eyes,  full  of  eloquent  pleading, 
Looked  earnestly  down  upon  me ; 

I  could  not  refrain  from  remarking 
That  I  was  still  younger  than  she. 

"  Yes,  that  is  quite  true,"  he  made  answer, 
"  But  you're  self-reliant  and  strong, 
While  Lillie  is  timid  and  shrinking, 
The  days  will  be  dreary  and  long. 

"  The  poor  little  girl  loves  me  dearly, 

I'm  sorry  to  leave  her,"  he  said, 
Oh  !  how  I  was  longing  to  tell  him 
Just  how  she  had  treated  our  Ed. 

But  pride  and  reserve  held  me  silent 
Lest  he  should  my  secret  suspect, 

I  swallowed  a  sob  in  my  anguish 
And  promised  his  love  to  protect, 


From  what  or  from  whom  did  not  question ; 

Since  he  seemed  to  think  it  was  best 
To  leave  her  in  somebody's  keeping, 

I  could  but  respect  his  request. 

I  well  knew  he  meant  me  to  comfort 
And  soothe  her  in  sorrow  and  woe, 

Should  he  die  or  be  wounded  in  battle, 
Endeavor  to  soften  the  blow. 

I  regarded  this  promise  as  sacred ; 

Though  I  had  misgivings  for  Will 
I  strove  as  one  friend  to  another 

His  parting  behest  to  fulfill. 

The  morning,  at  length,  came  for  parting, 
And  bidding  our  soldiers  adieu, 

We  gathered  around,  friends  and  neighbors, 
But  words  were  low  spoken  and  few. 

The  brave  little  band  there  assembled 
That  forth  to  the  conflict  would  go, 

Were  all  in  the  first  flush  of  manhood, 
Their  hearts  with  youth's  fervor  aglow. 


Thus  went  forth  the  flower  of  our  nation 

From  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  our  land. 

Oh  !  the  heart-aches  and  dread  desolation, 
The  bereft  can  alone  understand. 

Long  after  my  brother's  departure, 
Our  mother,  quite  shaken  by  grief, 

Claimed  all  of  my  time  and  attention, 
This  care  was  to  me  a  relief. 

It  left  me  no  time  for  repining, 

No  time  for  indulgence  in  tears, 
This  labor  of  love  for  my  parents 

Was  balm  to  my  heart  in  those  years. 

Lillie  came  to  our  house  very  often, 
And  we  grew  more  intimate  then, 

She  spoke  of  her  passion  for  Willie, 
And  called  him  a  king  among  men. 

"  But  tell  me,"  I  pleaded,  one  evening, 
"  How  you  could  cast  Edward  aside 
When  you  had  so  solemnly  promised 
That  you  would  ere  long  be  his  bride?" 

202 


"  You  should  not  be  scolding  me,  Nellie," 
She  laid  her  bright  head  on  my  knee, 

"  I  thought  that  I  loved  Edward  dearly 
Till  I  met  his  friend,  Willie  Lee. 

"  I  knew  the  first  moment  I  saw  him 

That  he  held  my  fate  in  his  hand ; 
He's  not  tall  and  handsome,  like  Edward, 
But  Oh  !  he's  so  noble  and  grand  !" 

And  then  I  sat  silently  musing, 

I  meant  not  to  be  too  severe, 
Still  knew  that  the  girl  there  before  me 

Had  broken  a  heart  I  held  dear. 

I  chided  my  heart  for  its  throbbing 
As  I  pictured  my  desolate  life, 

While  one  heartless,  thoughtless  and  fickle 
I  fancied  a  dearly  loved  wife. 

How  seldom  the  veil  of  the  future 

Is  lifted  for  mortals  below, 
How  little  we  know  in  our  blindness 

Of  blessings  the  years  may  bestow. 
203 


At  first  the  boys  wrote  us  quite  often 
Then  letters  were  farther  apart. 

We  searched  all  the  papers  for  tidings 
Till  we  had  their  contents  by  heart. 

One  day  I  returned  from  the  office 
With  face  so  distorted  and  pale 

That  mother,  who  came  out  to  meet  me, 
Read  therein  some  terrible  tale. 

The  paper  I  held  in  my  fingers 

She  took  from  me  quickly  and  read 

That  Edward,  her  idolized  first-born, 
The  pride  of  our  household,  was  dead  ! 

Poor  mother !  I  ne'er  shall  forget  it, 
That  look  of  unspeakable  woe ; 

And  then,  with  a  face  white  as  marble, 
She  fainted  and  fell  'neath  the  blow. 

And  father,  his  grief  was  heart-rending, 
It  seemed  it  would  kill  him,  outright, 

But  he  bore  up  bravely  for  her  sake 
And  left  not  her  side  day  or  night. 
204 


The  first  snow  of  winter  was  falling 
On  orchard  and  forest  and  field, 

Ere  mother  again  filled  the  station, 
Her  anguish  compelled  her  to  yield. 

Our  letters  from  Maurice  were  frequent, 
As  letters  from  soldiers  might  be ; 

And  Willie,  who  seemed  in  good  spirits, 
Wrote  Lillie,  his  parents  and  me. 

The  winter  passed  drearily  by  us 

And  brought  little  change  in  our  life ; 

We  watched,  with  anxiety  fearful, 
For  news  of  the  far  distant  strife. 

Our  hearts  thrilled  with  proud  exultation 
When  hearing  of  victories  gained, 

Or  sank  in  despair  or  dejection 

When  loss  and  defeat  were  sustained. 

Eight  months  had  elapsed  since  our  Edward 
Had  laid  down  his  life  for  the  right, 

When  again  came  the  terrible  tidings — 
Another  had  fallen  in  fight. 
205 


Not  dead,  only  wounded  in  action, 

The  Chronicle  briefly  had  said  ; 
We  feared  as  we  read  the  sad  message 

That  even  ere  this,  he  was  dead. 

But  God  in  His  infinite  mercy 

Had  willed  it  should  otherwise  be ; 

And  soon  there  arrived  a  brief  letter 
Directed  to  poor  Mr.  Lee. 

It  was  written  by  one  of  the  nurses 

Where  Will  in  a  hospital  lay, 
Said  the  writer,  "  Your  son,  who  is  wounded, 

Is  asking  for  you  night  and  day." 

Will's  father  and  mother  were  feeble 
And  now  were  so  shaken  by  fears, 

'Twas  dreadful  to  witness  their  sorrow ; 
Together  we  mingled  our  tears. 

To  me  who  had  cherished  his  image 
Since  we  were  small  children  at  play 

Came  a  peaceful  and  calm  resignation 
I  could  not  have  fathomed  that  day. 
206 


A  long  and  a  tedious  journey 
The  father  now  ventured  upon, 

For  him  'twas  a  great  undertaking, 
But  he  only  thought  of  his  son. 

Arriving  at  his  destination, 

He  wrote  to  the  grief-stricken  one 

At  home,  and  so  anxiously  waiting, 
Just  what  had  befallen  her  son. 

She  placed  in  my  hand  the  long  letter 

And  said,  in  a  tremulous  tone, 
"  I  am  glad  you  are  with  me  this  evening, 
I  dreaded  to  read  it  alone." 

(,-i 
Mr.  Lee  found  Willie  still  living, 

Though  close  to  the  brink  of  the  grave 
Still  hoped  that  a  strong  constitution 
And  excellent  nursing  might  save. 

At  present  he  could  not  remove  him 
From  under  the  good  surgeon's  care ; 

He  bade  her  meanwhile  to  be  hopeful 
And  mention  them  daily  in  prayer. 
207 


And  then  he  went  on  to  prepare  her 

For  serious  changes  in  Will ; 
Before  we  had  finished  the  reading 

The  hearts  in  our  bosoms  stood  still. 

Our  strong,  manly  son  is  a  wreck,  wife, 
Of  the  boy  who  went  out  from  the  farm ; 

At  Gettysburg,  valiantly  fighting, 
While  charging,  he  lost  his  left  arm. 

He  is  otherwise  painfully  wounded, 
But  seems  to  be  doing  quite  well ; 

Should  there  be  a  change  for  the  worse,  dear, 
I'll  send  a  dispatch  on  to  L — . 

Long  after  I  finished  the  letter 
I  sat  with  my  eyes  on  the  floor  ; 

I  feared  its  effect  on  the  mother, 
But  she  was  more  calm  than  before. 

'Tis  terrible!  Nellie,  my  darling, 
Should  he  live,  is  crippled  for  life ; 

And  some  one  must  carry  the  tidings 
To  one  who  will  soon  be  his  wife. 
208 


And  now  I  remembered  the  promise 
I  made  in  the  garden  to  Will, 

I  deemed  it  was  only  my  duty 
And  hastn'd  the  trust  to  fulfill. 

For  me  'twas  a  delicate  mission, 
A  pitiful,  heart-breaking  task  ! 

How  would  Lillian  meet  this  affliction, 
I  dreaded  the  shadow  to  cast. 

There  were  others,  I  knew,  who  as  deeply 
Would  grieve  o'er  this  chapter  of  woes  ; 

While  some  must  be  silently  patient, 
Each  heart  its  own  bitterness  knows. 

With  all  her  sweet  radiant  beauty 
She  seemed  little  more  than  a  child ; 

I  pitied  her  then,  in  her  anguish, 
Her  grief  was  so  bitter  and  wild. 

I  strove  to  administer  comfort, 

My  gentle  remonstrance  was  vain, 

She  only  replied  by  fresh  outbursts, 
While  tears  fell  like  torrents  of  rain, 
i4  209 


"  Let  her  cry,"  said  the  worthy  physician, 
"  Such  tears  are  a  source  of  relief." 
So  I  sadly  returned  from  my  mission 
And  left  her  alone  with  her  grief. 

The  days  were  as  long  and  as  dreary 
As  Willie  foretold  they  would  be ; 

But  since  there  arrived  no  dispatches 
He  surely  is  better,  thought  we. 

And  we  were  correct,  for  the  father 

At  length,  sent  a  letter  to  say 
That  Willie  was  rapidly  gaining 

And  soon  they  would  be  on  their  way. 

The  soft,  sweet,  September  sunshine 
Lay  over  the  old  Granite  State 

And  bathed  in  its  brightness  the  homestead 
Where  loved  ones  in  eagerness  wait. 

The  rumbling  old  stage  from  the  village 

Rolls  up  to  the  Lee  cottage  door, 
By  the  help  of  his  father  and  driver 

crosses  the  threshold  once  more. 
210 


How  solemn  and  sacred  the  meeting 
Between  the  loved  mother  and  son ! 

But  we  draw  a  veil  o'er  the  greeting 
Let  no  careless  eyes  look  thereon. 

From  the  fond  embrace  of  his  mother 
Will  turned  to  the  girl  of  his  choice, 

From  the  pale  frozen  lips  of  his  idol 
There  issued  no  welcoming  voice. 

Lillie  scanned  the  battle-wrecked  hero, 
Her  face  full  of  horror  and  dread, 

And  then  like  a  storm-broken  blossom 
She  fell  at  his  feet  like  one  dead. 

They  called  me  in  haste  to  her  bedside 
And  ere  long  she  slowly  revived, 

But  to  moan  and  bewail  the  condition 
In  which  her  affianced  arrived. 

"  Oh,  Nellie  !  he  does  look  so  dreadful ! 

He  is  not  at  all  like  my  Will ! 
I  was  not  expecting  to  see  him 
So  shockingly  changed,  and  so  ill. 


"  And  then  'tis  so  awful  to  see  it, 

That  limp  sleeve  without  any  arm  ! 
I  wish  he  had  not  joined  the  army 
But  always  remained  on  the  farm." 

In  silent  and  stern  indignation 

I  turned  and  escaped  from  the  room — 
And  this  is  the  girl  he  will  marry ! 

'Tis  truly  a  terrible  doom  ! 

I  wanted  to  welcome  the  soldier 
For  I  had  not  seen  him  as  yet, 

On  a  couch  I  found  him  reclining 
And  fancied  his  eyelids  were  wet ; 

But  quiet  as  though  he  were  sleeping ; 

His  one  hand  reposed  on  his  breast, 
As  after  fatigue  and  excitement, 

He  lay  calmly  taking  his  rest. 

How  wasted  and  worn  were  his  features, 
Their  hue  like  the  pallor  of  death  ! 

One  scarcely  would  think  he  were  living 
But  for  his  deep  regular  breath. 
212 


He  seemed  not  to  note  my  approaching 

Till  softly  I  stepped  to  his  side 
And  laying  my  hand  on  his  forehead, 
"  Welcome  home,  brave  soldier,"  I  cried. 

"  And  so  this  is  you,  little  Nellie, 

Are  you  not  afraid  of  me  too  ? 
Don't  I  look  to  you  like  a  phantom 
Or  spectre  of  some  boy  in  blue  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  much  more  than  a  spectre, 

'Tis  true  you  are  wasted,  and  wan, 
But  now  you're  at  home  with  your  mother 
You  soon  will  be  hearty  again." 

"  I  may  regain  health  in  a  measure, 

But  I  am  a  cripple  for  life ; 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better 
Had  I  fallen  dead  in  the  strife." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  props  of  the  nation 

And  what  can  you  ask  to  be  more  ? 
Your  life  in  itself  is  a  treasure, 

And  holds  many  blessings  in  store." 
213 


"  God  grant  that  it  may,  but  I  tell  you 

'Tis  hard  to  be  found  in  such  plight 
That  the  girl  I  adore  faints  before  me, 
And  nearly  is  killed  by  the  fright ; 

"  And  that  after  I  was  expected 

For  such  a  long  wearisome  while, 
But  I  am  no  doubt,  weak  and  childish." 
His  lips  frame  a  pitiful  smile. 

"  She  was  quite  overcome  by  emotion 

To  see  you  so  wasted  and  pale ; 
You  know  she  is  'timid  and  shrinking, 
No  wonder  her  courage  should  fail. 

"  Now  banish  all  fears  and  foreboding 

No  time  for  repining  to-night ; 
This  day  of  your  happy  home-coming 
Should  hold  only  joy  and  delight." 

I  left  him,  returning  to  Lillie, 

For  once  I  spoke  freely  my  mind ; 

I  tried  to  do  this  in  a  manner 

Which  would  not  seem  harsh  or  unkind, 

214 


But  told  her  what  I  deemed  her  duty, 
And  strove  to  make  her  understand 

How  Will  in  his  heart  must  be  longing 
For  one  kindly  touch  of  her  hand. 

The  result  of  this  conversation, 
At  least,  was  a  comfort  to  me ; 

She  somewhat  recovered  her  spirits 
And  finally,' "  Nellie,"  said  she, 

'  'Twas  a  coward's  reception  I  gave  him, 

And  I  am  ashamed  of  it  too  ! 
I'll  go  now  and  welcome  my  soldier, 

I  wish  I  were  braver,  like  you." 

As  the  door  closed  softly  behind  her 
I  felt  that  some  good  had  been  done, 

And  though  my  own  heart  had  been  aching 
O'er  it  I  had  victory  won. 

The  evening  so  peaceful  and  holy, 
With  its  star-gemmed  diadem  bright, 

Fell  over  the  landscape  in  beauty 
As  we  said  a  cheerful,  good  night. 
215 


As  Willie  each  day  became  stronger, 
Of  Maurice  he  often  would  speak, 

And  Oh,  how  his  brown  eyes  would  kindle 
The  color  mount  up  to  his  cheek, 

When  speaking  of  terrible  conflicts 

In  which  they  had  fought  side  by  side ; 

To  praise  he  bestowed  upon  Maurice 
My  parents  would  listen  with  pride. 

But  now  we  grew  sad  and  disheartened 
As  month  after  month  passed  away, 

And  still  from  the  front  came  the  tidings 
Of  many  a  fearful  affray. 

In  the  midst  of  the  battle  went  Maurice, 
It  seemed  that  he  bore  a  charmed  life, 

The  officers  noticed  his  valor 
In  fearlessly  facing  the  strife. 

We  carefully  noted  all  details, 

And  proud  of  our  heroes  were  we 

While  watching  the  unsurpassed  triumph 
Of  Sherman's  grand  march  to  the  sea. 
216 


And  when  came  the  glorious  tidings 
That  Lee  had  surrendered,  at  last, 

Our  fervent  and  joyful  thanksgiving 
Was  never  by  mortals  surpassed. 

Now  we  very  soon  should  see  Maurice 
And  joyfully  welcome  him  home  : 

The  dreadful  Rebellion  was  over 

And  ere  long  our  loved  one  would  come. 

One  letter  contained  an  announcement 
Which  set  our  old  homestead  astir, 

At  the  South  he  should  marry  a  lady 
And  claimed  a  warm  welcome  for  her. 

Oh,  there  were  such  happy  reunions ! 

Scenes  ever  remembered  by  all, 
As  many  brave  heroes  surviving 

Returned  to  their  homes  in  the  fall. 

How  noble  and  grand  was  our  Maurice, 

He  an  officer's  uniform  wore, 
The  bright  epaulets  of  a  major 

Upon  his  broad  shoulders  he  bore. 
217 


Promoted  for  bravery  in  battle 
At  Williamsburg  and  at  Bull  Run, 

At  Gettysburg,  too,  made  a  record 
Which  for  him  distinction  had  won. 

His  wife  was  a  bright  winsome  creature, 
Of  whom  it  is  needless  to  tell, 

Since  better  you  know  your  dear  mother 
Than  does  your  old  auntie,  my  Nell. 

They  lived  for  a  year  at  the  homestead, 
Then  brother  to  Michigan  went ; 

Engaging  in  pine  speculation 
He  soon  for  his  family  sent. 

Since  you  were  an  infant,  my  namesake, 
You've  lived  in  the  Wolverine  State ; 

But  I  must  proceed  with  the  story 
For  which  you  impatiently  wait. 

When  Maurice  and  family  left  us 
The  old  home  was  lonely,  indeed, 

Of  all  of  my  strong  self-reliance 
I  found  that  I  now  stood  in  need. 
218 


The  health  of  my  father  was  failing, 
Much  care  now  devolved  upon  me, 

I  cheerfully  took  up  the  burden, 
Nor  murmured  at  heaven's  decree. 

Will  Lee  still  remained  with  his  parents, 
No  change  had  there  been  in  his  life, 

The  girl  he  had  worshiped  so  blindly, 
Ere  this  was  another  man's  wife. 

To  Lillie  he  never  alluded, 

Although  we  were  intimate  friends  ; 
I  knew  nothing  only  conjectured 

True  love  ne'er  to  question  descends. 

In  autumn  the  fell  hand  of  fever 
Was  heavily  laid  on  the  Lees ; 

They  bore  out  Will's  father  and  mother 
To  sleep  'neath  the  green  willow  tree:; ; 

While  over  the  couch  of  the  soldier 
The  death-angel  hovered  so  near 

That  those  who  were  tenderly  watching 
Were  filled  with  foreboding  and  fear. 
219 


Delirium  clouded  his  reason, 

His  mind  would  revert  to  the  past, 

He  would  call  out  to  Edward  and  Maurice 
And  say  they  were  marching  too  fast. 

At  times  he  would  call  out  to  Nellie 
To  come  and  sit  down  by  his  side, 

That  he  might  entreat  her  to  love  him 
And  some  future  day  be  his  bride. 

The  cry  that  arose  from  that  sick-room 
Went  straight  to  my  desolate  heart, 

I  then  learned  the  love  which  he  bore  me, 
The  truth  which  he  feared  to  impart ; 

And  thoughts  of  the  pride  of  the  Lintons 
Still  surged  through  his  fever-crazed  brain 

With  the  fear  that  his  suit,  if  he  pressed  it 
Would  meet  with  repulse  and  disdain. 

My  tears  fell  like  rain  on  his  pillow, 
No  thought  of  resentment  had  I, 

My  life  should  be  one  of  devotion 
If  ever  this  dark  cloud  rolled  by. 

220 


It  seemed  the  death-angel  would  triumph ; 

I  prayed  as  I  ne'er  prayed  before 
That  God  would  in  merciful  kindness 

The  health  of  my  loved  one  restore. 

God  granted  my  prayer,  and  one  evening 
His  brown  eyes  were  fixed  upon  mine ; 

A  look  of  such  love-light  and  longing 
I  could  not  have  failed  to  define. 

I  took  the  thin  hand  of  my  patient 
And  sat  down  my  vigil  to  keep, 

While  he,  the  first  time  during  illness, 
Sank  into  a  sweet  peaceful  sleep. 

While  Will  was  so  weak  and  enfeebled 
I  dared  not  to  leave  him  alone 

To  the  care  of  the  cousin  who  nursed  him, 
The  gentle,  kind-hearted  Ned  Stone. 

When  he  was  pronounced  convalescent 
I  left  him  to  Ned's  tender  care, 

Returned  to  the  home  of  my  parents 
To  find  a  new  restfulness  there. 
221 


The  care  of  the  Lees  in  their  illness 

Had  much  of  it  fallen  on  me, 
After  all  this  unwonted  exertion 

'Twas  sweet  in  its  shelter  to  be. 

But  I  was  not  ill,  only  weary, 

And  ere  long  my  strength  had  regained. 
I  sometimes  called  in  to  see  Willie, 

But  ever  felt  shy  and  restrained, 

Determined  to  make  no  advances ; 

I  had  striven  to  do  well  my  part, 
From  all  I  had  done,  and  had  suffered, 

He  surely  had  fathomed  my  heart. 

The  snow  from  the  hills  had  departed, 
The  south  wind  whispered  of  flowers, 

Ere  Willie  the  strength  had  recovered 
To  walk  from  his  cottage  to  ours. 

'Tis  needless  to  say  he  came  often, 
His  home  "was  as  still  as  a  tomb, 

And  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  parents 
Threw  o'er  it  a  desolate  gloom. 

222 


The  spring  swiftly  sped  toward  the  summer 

And  we  were  rejoiced  to  behold 
That  Willie,  his  health  now  returning, 

Was  more  like  the  Willie  of  old. 

He  seemed  to  grow  hopeful  and  happy 

And  chatted  more  freely  with  me, 
We  pitied  his  lonely  condition 

And  often  he  tarried  to  tea. 

One  evening  we  walked  in  the  garden, 
As  once  we  had  walked  there  before, 

Our  theme  was  the  valor  of  soldiers 
Who  arms  in  the  late  trouble  bore. 

Said  Will,  in  his  impulsive  fashion, 
"  We  worship  such  heroes  as  those, 
And  yet  on  the  plain  of  life's  conflict 

They  might  have  been  vanquished,  who  knows? 

"  I  stood  a  true  soldier  in  action, 

And  fell  with  my  face  to  the  foe, 
But  could  easier  face  a  battalion, 
Than  one  little  woman  I  know. 
223 


"  To-night  I  have  summoned  my  courage, 

'Twill  be  victory,  dear,  or  defeat, 

I  now  stake  my  all  on  the  venture, 

And  calmly  the  issue  will  meet  ; 

"  Will  lay  my  life  open  before  you 

And  let  you  look  into  my  heart, 
Should  the  sight  of  its  contents  appall  you 
I  soon  for  the  West  shall  depart. 

"  My  infatuation  for  Lillie 

You  knew  from  the  first,  Nellie  dear, 
But  I  have  repented  my  folly 

For  more  than  a  long,  bitter  year. 

"  When  I  returned  home  so  disabled 

You  knew  how  she  shrank  from  me  then, 
I  attributed  all  to  her  weakness, 
Oh,  I  was  the  blindest  of  men ! 

"  For  I  am  not  fickle  by  nature 

And  so  I  could  not  understand 
That  the  heartless  and  beautiful  creature, 
Wished  me  to  relinquish  her  hand. 
224 


"  But  once  when  I  spoke  of  our  bridal 

She  threw  of  the  mask  she  had  worn, 
The  words  which  she  uttered  were  cruel 
And  grievous,  indeed,  to  be  borne. 

"  I  saw  how  deformed  was  her  nature, 

My  idol  had  crumbled  to  clay ; 
All  I  had  deemed  love  and  devotion 
Was  turned  into  loathing  that  day. 

"  I  learned  then  I  never  had  loved  her, 

It  was  but  a  fancy  of  youth, 
Though  rudely  awakened  I  bless  her 
For  having  once  told  me  the  truth. 

"  In  contrast  to  hers  was  presented 

Your  own  pure  and  unselfish  life, 
Your  kindness  to  one  who  was  crippled, 
And  tears  for  those  fallen  in  strife. 

"  Nell,  we  have  been  friends  from  our  childhood, 

But,  darling,  I  crave  something  more ; 
I'll  strive  to  make  happy  your  future, 
Oh,  give  me  the  right,  I  implore. 
15  225 


"  The  wife  of  a  poor  one  armed  soldier 

I  ask  you  my  love  to  become, 
My  life  will  be  worthless  without  you 
And  dark  and  deserted  my  home." 

You  know  that  I  could  not  refuse  him, 
I  promised  to  marry  him  soon ; 

He  gave  me  the  kiss  of  betrothal 

That  night  'neath  the  light  of  the  moon. 

September  smiled  sweet  on  our  bridal ; 

I  have  never  regretted  my  choice, 
To  see  you  as  happy,  my  darling, 

Will  make  your  Aunt  Ellen  rejoice. 


Aunt  ceased  for  the  story  was  finished ; 

I  was  but  a  girl  of  sixteen, 
But  the  romance,  so  sad,  and  so  tender 

Is  still  in  my  memory  green. 

I  vowed  I  would  marry  a  soldier ; 

The  best  I've  been  able  to  do 
Was  to  capture  the  son  of  a  hero 

Who  perished  while  wearing  the  blue. 
226 


Now  Peace  spreads  her  snowy  white  pinions 
And  smiles  on  this  land  of  the  free ; 

We'll  cherish  their  memory  ever 

Who  died,  my  dear  country,  for  thee. 

Let  the  grave  of  each  gallant  defender 
Be  strewn  with  the  blossoms  of  May, 

And  gather  the  last  bloom  of  autumn 
Above  their  brave  bosoms  to  lay 


227 


MICHIGAN  PINE. 


a  chord  in  my  heart  which  vibrates  with 
pain 

At  the  sight  of  a  pine  standing  lone  on  the  plain ; 
And  memory  reverts  to  that  pioneer  day 
When  those  lords  of  the  forests  held  absolute  sway, 
And  the  Michigan  pines  in  their  glory  were  seen 
An  unbroken  splendor  of  shimmering  green. 

I  was  but  a  child,  but  my  eyes  will  grow  wet 
As  I  picture  the  scene  which  my  vision  first  met, 
As  I  came  from  the  East,  where  the  pines  failed  to  grow, 
And  viewed  their  expanse  'neath  the  sun's  golden  glow. 
'Twas  the  Muskegon  valley,  Oh,  beautiful  sight ! 
Whose  vast  sea  of  green  filled  my  heart  with  delight. 
How  it  rose,  and  then  fell  with  the  breath  of  the  breeze, 
That  great  restless  sea  of  gigantic  pine  trees. 

And  as  we  arrived  at  the  valley  at  last 
And  through  the  dense  forest  with  difficulty  passed, 

229 


The  air  was  so  sweet  with  the  breath  of  the  pine 
That  it  lifted  our  spirits  like  draughts  of  new  wine. 
But  never  again  may  we  gaze  on  that  scene ; 
A  dream  of  the  past  is  that  splendor  of  green. 
The  restless  Muskegon  sweeps  down  to  its  mouth, 
The  soft,  whispering  zephyrs  come  up  from  the  south, 
But  the  pines  where  they  reveled  and  sported  in  glee 
They  never  again  in  their  visits  shall  see. 

I  wonder  sometimes  as  I  lovingly  dream 

Of  that  valley  of  pine  and  its  deep  rolling  stream 

If  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  stately  and  fair, 

Could  e'er  with  our  own  native  pine  tree  compare ; 

And  deep  in  my  heart  there  is  hidden  a  shrine 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Michigan  Pine. 


230 


WHITTIER. 


HITTIER  our  bard  is  dead  ! 
And  above  his  silent  bed 

We  now  weep, 

Done  with  earthly  care  and  pain 
This  our  loss  is  but  his  gain, 

Sweet  his  sleep ! 

His  pure  life  was  like  a  stream 
Where  the  golden  sunbeams  gleam 

As  it  flows, 

Lapsing  into  restful  shade 
Which  the  length'ning  shadows  made 

Near  its  close. 

His  was  not  a  mighty  pen, 
But  it  thrilled  the  hearts  of  men 

Many  times,  • 

Like  the  sound  of  sweet-toned  bells 
As  their  melting  music  swells 

In  sweet  chimes. 
231 


Some  have  said  he  had  no  claim 
To  a  great  poetic  name ; — 

Be  it  so, 

Still  his  sweet,  pathetic  rhyme 
Will  live  through  all  coming  time, 

This  we  know. 

When  the  evening  shadows  fall, 
And  the  waiting  angel's  call 

Is  for  me, 

May  I  calmly  view  the  shore 
Of  the  glory-evermore 

As  did  he. 


232 


AN   AUTUMN   IDYL. 


T3RIGHTLY  falls  the  golden  sunlight 

On  this  autumn  afternoon, 
Bathing  all  the  earth  with  splendor, 
Still  my  harp  is  out  of  tune, 


I  can  wake  but  notes  of  sadness ; 

Mournful  music  fills  my  heart, 
Dirges  for  the  friends  of  summer 

Now  preparing  to  depart. 

Some  already  have  departed, 
Birds  to  sunny  Southern  lands, 

Flowers  are  dead,  and  soon  the  brooklets 
Will  be  bound  in  icy  bands. 

We  must  bid  farewell  to  brightness 
E'en  the  leaves  upon  the  trees, 

Glowing  now  with  gold  and  crimson 
Will  be  scattered  by  the  breeze. 
233 


Thus,  poor  heart !  thy  hopes  have  perished, 
Youth  was  bright  with  joyous  dreams, 

But  they  fell  like  leaves  of  autumn 

Or  were  chilled  like  ice-bound  streams. 

One  by  one  they  have  departed 
Or  like  summer  flowers  are  dead 

Leaving  only  memories  tender 
Of  the  sunny  days  long  fled. 

Yet  I  know  the  breath  of  springtime 
Will  be  sweet  with  fragrant  flowers, 

And  the  birds,  now  fleeing  southward, 
Will  return  to  Northern  bowers. 

Streams  released  from  icy  fetters 

Will  go  rippling  on  their  way, 
Trees  by  autumn  blasts  left  leafless 

Stand  once  more  in  green  array. 

I  am  soothed  by  these  reflections, 
And  there  comes  to  me  the  thought 

That,  perhaps,  the  unseen  future 
May  hold  blessings  I  have  sought. 
234 


Some  fond  hope  may  yet  reviving 
Brighten  my  declining  years, 

Cease,  O  heart !  thy  vain  repining, 
Hopes  are  better  far  than  fears. 


235 


ABRAHAM    IJXCOT.N. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


TTIGH  written  on  the  scroll  of  fame 

Stands  Lincoln's  loved  and  honored  name, 
He  came  in  time  of  sorest  need 
This  nation's  destinies  to  lead ; 
He  came  that  wrongs  might  be  redressed ; 
A  Moses  proved  to  the  oppressed ; 
A  Heaven-appointed,  upright  man 
Was  he,  our  Father  Abraham. 

What  can  I  say  of  him  ?  I  ask, 
My  trembling  hand  shrinks  from  the  task, 
My  heart  is  stirred  by  thoughts  sublime, 
But  all  too  weak  are  words  of  mine 
To  paint  in  colors,  true  and  fair, 
The  portrait  of  a  soul  so  rare. 
No  monarch  e'er  on  gilded  throne 
Such  glowing  qualities  hath  shown; 
A  heart  to  feel  and  skill  to  plan 
Had  our  unequaled  Abraham. 
237 


Each  nation  claims  her  mighty  men, 
France  boasted  a  Napoleon 
And  Greece  her  Alexander  great, 
But  men  like  those  can  never  rate 
With  Lincoln,  who  with  patriot  hand 
Sought  but  the  good  of  native  land. 
He  cherished  no  ambitious  lust 
We  yielded  with  implicit  trust 
The  helm  of  state  to  this  great  man, 
Our  glorious  Father  Abraham. 

When  dark  and  lowering  was  our  sky, 
And  waves  ran  turbulent  and  high 
With  calm  unflinching  faith  he  came, 
A  tower  of  strength  was  Lincoln's  name. 
He  stood  as  steadfast  as  a  rock 
No  censure,  wrath,  or  battle  shock 
E'er  moved  his  purpose  firm,  assured 
Which  through  our  crucial  time  endured. 
"  Our  trust  is  in  the  great  I  AM 
And  Right  is  Might,"  said  Abraham. 

The  right  prevailed,  our  helmsman  fell ! 
And  how  we  mourned  him  none  can  tell ; 
238 


E'en  childish  hearts  were  well  nigh  broke, 
Strong  men  in  trembling  accents  spoke, 
Rehearsed  his  kind  and  loving  deeds 
And  how  he  felt  for  others'  needs. 
Ours  is  a  land  restored  to  peace 
Where  freedom's  blessings  still  increase, 
While  he  a  martyr's  grave  has  found 
In  henceforth  consecrated  ground, 
Where  nought  can  mar  his  peaceful  sleep, 
Where  freedom's  sons  and  daughters  weep, 
And  say,  as  drops  the  grateful  tear, 
'  Abraham  Lincoln  slumbers  here." 


239 


MOONLIGHT  MUSINGS. 


evening  is  hushing  the  toil-wearied  world, 
And  many-hued  clouds  in  the  west  are  unfurled ; 
I  sit  at  the  door  of  my  plain,  humble  cot, 
Sweet  peace  in  my  heart  and  content  with  my  lot ; 
I  forget  I  am  weary  or  burdened  with  care, 
For  a  sweet  restful  spirit  is  flooding  the  air. 

As  thus  I  sit  pensively  musing,  behold  ! 
The  moon  slowly  drifts  through  the  amber  and  gold, 
And  shedding  her  radiance  over  the  scene 
Envelops  the  whole  with  a  silvery  sheen. 

I  mark  the  pale  glory,  the  soft,  silver  light, 
And  then  I  remember  this  queen  of  the  night, 
As  fair  and  as  pure  as  a  maiden  at  prayer 
Has  witnessed  full  many  a  scene  of  despair; 
Has  shone  on  the  field  where  the  dying  were  left. 
Has  shone  on  the  cot  of  the  orphan  bereft, 
16  241 


From  her  throne  at  the  zenith  has  coldly  looked  down 
On  fields  red  with  carnage,  on  battle- wrecked  town, 
On  tents  of  the  soldiers  who  slept  on  their  arms 
Environed  by  danger  of  sudden  alarms. 

Her  beams  often  fell  on  the  still  open  grave 
As  soldier  boys  buried  a  comrade  so  brave ; 
Looked  in  through  the  casement,  illumined  the  room 
Where  the  widow  was  sleeping  unconscious  of  doom. 
Musing  on  I  grew  sad  lest  this  friend  of  my  youth 
Had  recreant  proved  to  her  goodness  and  truth, 

Since  she  unappalled  still  her  radiance  shed 
And  gazed  so  serenely  on  dying  and  dead. 
Again  I  reflected  that  moonlight  had  brought 
Its  manifold  blessings  I'd  counted  as  naught. 

Though  cold,  calm  and  passionless,  yet  the  fair  moon 
To  sad  lonely  watchers  was  often  a  boon, 
And  if  her  pure  light  but  a  mockery  seemed 
When  over  such  scenes  as  Antietam  it  streamed, 
Yet  often  it  cheered  the  poor  sentry  who  stood 
On  lone  picket  duty  in  valley  and  wood ; 

242 


And  I  have  been  told  that  the  soldiers  oft  read 
Their  letters  from  home  by  the  light  which  she  shed. 
At  length  I  am  comforted,  as  I  reflect 
The  moon  still  has  claims  to  my  love  and  respect. 


243 


MEMORIAL  DAY. 


1TEMORIAL  day  of  our  patriot  dead, 

Who  in  the  cause  of  humanity  bled, 
Proudly  we  garland  with  blossoms  their  bed. 


Where  were  there  ever  such  heroes  as  ours  ? 
Worthy,  indeed,  of  homage  and  flowers  ! 
Let  the  bright  petals  be  scattered  in  showers ! 

Though  they  have  slumbered  for  many  long  years, 

Brighter,  still  brighter  their  record  appears, 

Fondly  their  loved  ones  now  smile  through  their  tears^ 

Let  us  remember  the  price  which  they  paid 
Who  never  disheartened,  never  dismayed, 
All  on  the  altar  of  liberty  laid. 

245 


Give  to  the  breeze  the  dear  banner  they  loved, 
The  soul-stirring  music  to  which  they  once  moved ; 
Thus  let  our  gratitude  ever  be  proved. 

Never  forgotten,  their  valor  shall  live 
Through  coming  ages,  and  lustre  shall  give 
The  crown  which  the  victor  at  last  shall  receive. 


246 


OUR  FLAG. 


T  STAND  beneath  the  starry  flag 

With  swelling  heart  and  kindling  eye, 
•  Nor  wonder  that  for  its  bright  folds 

So  many  heroes  dared  to  die. 
Oh,  precious  banner  of  the  free ! 

What  other  land  has  flag  like  this  ? 
Emblem  of  glorious  liberty, 

To  die  for  thee  were  truly  bliss  ! 

Proudly  it  floats  upon  the  breeze 

Like  living  thing  by  passion  swayed, 
When  dire  calamities  befall 

It  droops  like  one  by  grief  dismayed. 
When  honored  statesmen  hence  depart 

Its  colors  hang  in  sorrows  low 
And  flutter  sadly  at  half  mast 

Portraying  thus  a  nation's  woe. 
247 


A  fitting  winding  sheet,  indeed, 

For  freedom's  heroes  has  it  been, 
Who  fought  beneath  its  starry  folds 

To  quell  oppression,  shame  and  sin. 
On  battle  plain,  o'er  mountain  top 

Its  colors  always  led  the  right, 
Oh,  triune  flag !  by  Heaven  was  planned 

Thy  pattern  of  red,  blue  and  white. 

May  coming  generations  love 

And  cherish  well  with  patriot  pride 
The  sacred  folds  of  this  dear  flag 

For  which  their  fathers  fought  and  died. 
May  cruel  warfare  never  come 

To  spoil  again  our  native  land, 
But  may  its  stars  forever  gleam 

Above  a  happy  loving  band. 


248 


COLUMBIA. 


AUR  minds  revert  four  hundred  years, 
And  now  in  retrospect  appears 

The  navigator  brave, 
Who,  standing  on  the  shore  of  Spain, 
Looked  steadfastly  across  the  main, 

Longing  to  breast  the  wave. 

A  watery  way  unknown  to  men 
Lay  stretched  before  his  piercing  ken 

And  fired  his  noble  breast 
With  purpose  firm  and  courage  high, 
He  bravely  dared  to  do  or  die 

For  this  his  cherished  art. 

Deterred  not  by  the  scoffer's  jeer, 
He  clasped  the  cause,  to  him  so  dear, 

Still  closer  to  his  breast, 
And  o'er  the  mighty  seas  set  sail 
In  little  vessels  weak  and  frail 

Upon  his  daring  quest. 
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What  he  discovered  we  now  hold ; 
Columbus,  crumbled  into  mould, 

Beholdeth  not  our  gain  ; 
But  on  each  lip  his  name  we  hear, 
His  memory,  held  forever  dear, 

Still  fires  the  heart  and  brain. 

That  spirit,  still  from  east  to  west, 
Which  filled  the  navigator's  breast, 

Pervades  our  native  land. 
The  same  unconquerable  desire 
Some  great  achievement  to  acquire 

Is  seen  on  every  hand. 

Columbia's  sons  and  daughters  true 
With  noble  courage  dare  and  do 

In  every  righteous  cause  ; 
Free  are  her  people  as  the  air 
Which  floats  her  banner,  proud  and  fair, 

For  Heaven  has  shaped  her  laws. 

Columbus  was  the  instrument 
The  mighty  God  of  nations  sent 

To  do  His  sovereign  will, 
He  gave  to  him  the  clear  foresight, 
'Twas  He  who  kept  the  ships  aright 

And  safe  from  every  ill. 
250 


Dearly  we  love  our  own  fair  land 
And  recognize  His  guiding  hand 

In  ordering  our  ways, 
And  may  He  keep  us  in  His  care 
A  nation  upright  just  and  fair 

Throughout  all  coming  days. 


251 


A     000  548  825     9 


